_Don. Louisa_. But sure, sir, you have too much gallantry and honour
to betray me, whose fault is love?
_Isaac_. So! a passion for me! poor girl! Why, ma'am, as for betraying
you, I don't see how I could get anything by it; so, you may rely on
my honour; but as for your love, I am sorry your case is so desperate.
_Don. Louisa_. Why so, signor?
_Isaac_. Because I am positively engaged to another--an't I, Carlos?
_Don. Louisa_. Nay, but hear me.
_Isaac_. No, no; what should I hear for? It is impossible for me to
court you in an honourable way; and for anything else, if I were to
comply now, I suppose you have some ungrateful brother, or cousin, who
would want to cut my throat for my civility--so, truly, you had best
go home again.
_Don. Louisa_. [_Aside_.] Odious wretch!--[_Aloud_.]--But, good
signor, it is Antonio d'Ercilla, on whose account I have eloped.
_Isaac_. How! what! it is not with me, then, that you are in love?
_Don. Louisa_. No, indeed, it is not.
_Isaac_. Then you are a forward, impertinent simpleton! and I shall
certainly acquaint your father.
_Don. Louisa_. Is this your gallantry?
_Isaac_. Yet hold--Antonio d'Ercilla, did you say? egad, I may make
something of this--Antonio d'Ercilla?
_Don.
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