Chapter 11

_Isab._ How, Mr. _Fainlove_, it cannot be.

_Fan._ Indeed, Sister, ‘tis the same, for all he talks so; and he told me his coming was but to try your Virtue only.

Enter _Lodwick_ and _Maundy_ as passing over, but stand.

_Isab._ That _Fainlove_! whom I am so soon to marry! and but this day courted me in another Dialect!

_Wit._ That was my Policy, Madam, to pass upon your Father with. But I’m a Man that knows the value of the Fair, and saw Charms of Beauty and of Wit in you, that taught me to know the way to your Heart was to appear my self, which now I do. Why did you leave me so unkindly but now?

_Lod._ Hah, what’s this? whilst I was grafting Horns on another’s Head, some kind Friend was doing that good Office for me.

_Maun._ Sure ‘tis _Wittmore_!--oh that Dissembler--this was his Plot upon my Lady, to gain time with _Isabella_. [Aside.

_Wit._ And being so near my Happiness, can you blame me, if I made a trial whether your Virtue were agreeable to your Beauty, great, and to be equally ador’d?

_Lod._ Death, I’ve heard enough to forfeit all my Patience!--Draw, Sir, and make a trial of your Courage too.--

_Wit._ Hah, what desperate Fool art thou? [Draws.

_Lod._ One that will see thee fairly damn’d, e’er yield his Interest up in _Isabella_--oh thou false Woman! [They fight out, _Isabella_, _Fanny_, and _Maundy_ run off.