(Aside.
Patch. You mistake sure; what shall we do?
Isab. I thought he expected Company to Night— Oh! poor Charles— Oh! unfortunate Isabinda.
Butl. I thought so too Madam, but I suppose he has alter'd his Mind.
(Lays the Cloth, and Exit.
Isab. The Letter is the Cause; this heedless Action has undone me: Fly and fasten the Closet-window, which will give Charles notice to retire. Ha, my Father, oh! Confusion.
Enter Sir Jealous.
Sir Jeal. Hold, hold, Patch, whither are you going. I'll have no body stir out of the Room till after Supper.
Patch. Sir, I was only going to reach your easie Chair— Oh! wretched Accident!
Sir Jeal. I'll have no body stir out of the Room. I don't want my easie Chair.