Isab. Thank Heaven you do not. (aside) Then I know no more of it than you do indeed, Sir.
Patch. Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have you done, Sir? Why the Paper is mine, I drop'd it out of my Bosom.
(Snatching it from him.
Sir Jeal. Ha! yours, Mistress.
Isab. What does she mean by owning it.
(Aside.
Patch. Yes, Sir, it is.
Sir Jeal. What is it? Speak.
Patch. Why, Sir, it is a Charm for the Tooth-ach— I have worn it this seven Year, 'twas given me by an Angel for ought I know, when I was raving with the Pain; for no body knew from whence he came, nor whither he went, he charg'd me never to open it, lest some dire Vengeance befal me, and Heaven knows what will be the Event. Oh! cruel Misfortune that I should drop it, and you should open it— If you had not open'd it—
Isab. Excellent Wench.