Don Jer. Be sure, now, let everything be in the best order—let all my servants have on their merriest faces: but tell them to get as little drunk as possible, till after supper.—[Exeunt SERVANTS.] So, Lopez, where's your master? shan't we have him at supper?
Lop. Indeed, I believe not, sir—he's mad, I doubt! I'm sure he has frighted me from him.
Don Jer. Ay, ay, he's after some wench, I suppose: a young rake! Well, well, we'll be merry without him. [Exit LOPEZ.]
Enter a SERVANT.
Ser. Sir, here is Signor Isaac. [Exit.]
Enter ISAAC.
Don Jer. So, my dear son-in-law—there, take my blessing and forgiveness. But where's my daughter? where's Louisa?
Isaac. She's without, impatient for a blessing, but almost afraid to enter.
Don Jer. Oh, fly and bring her in.—[Exit ISAAC.] Poor girl, I long to see her pretty face.
Isaac. [Without.] Come, my, charmer! my trembling angel!