SCENE VI.

_Young_ Laroon, Isabel.

_Yo. Lar._ My _Isabel_, my Sweet!--how painfully do I count each tedious Hour, till I can call you mine?

_Isa._ Indeed, you are like to count many more tedious Hours than you imagine.

_Yo. Lar._ Ha! What means my Love?

_Isa._ I would not have your Wishes too impatient, that's all; but if you will wait a Week, you shall know whether I intend to marry you or not.

_Yo. Lar._ And is this possible? Can Words like these fall from _Isabel_'s sweet Lips; can she be false, inconstant, perjured?

_Isa._ Oh! do not discharge such a Volley of terrible Names upon me before you are certain I deserve them; doubt only whether I can be obedient to my Confessor, and guess the rest.

_Yo. Lar._ Can he have enjoined you to be perjured, by Heaven it would be sinful to obey him.

_Isa._ Be satisfied, if I prevail with my self to obey him in this Week's Delay, I will carry my Obedience no farther.

_Yo. Lar._ Oh! to what Happiness have those dear Words restor'd me. I am again my self: for while the Possession of thee is sure, tho' distant, there is in that dear Hope, more Transport than any other actual Enjoyment can afford.

_Isa._ Well adieu, and to cram you quite full with Hope (since you like the Food) I here promise you, that the Commands of all the Priests in _France_ shall not force me to marry another. That is, Sir, I will either marry you or die a Maid, and I have no violent Inclination to the latter, on the Word of a Virgin.