_Har. Jun._ No, you are loved, and I am bid despair.

_Tow._ Time and your services will perhaps make you as happy, as I am
in my Isabinda's love.

_Har. Jun._ I thought I spoke so plain, I might be understood; but
since I did not, I must tell you, Towerson, I wear the title of your
friend no longer, because I am your rival.

_Tow._ Is this true, Isabinda?

_Isab._ I should not, I confess, have told you first, because I would
not give you that disquiet; but since he has, it is too sad a truth.

_Tow._ Leave us, my dear, a little to ourselves.

_Isab._ I fear you will quarrel, for he seemed incensed, and
threatened you with ruin. [_To him aside._

_Tow._ 'Tis to prevent an ill, which may be fatal to us both, that I
would speak with him.

_Isab._ Swear to me, by your love, you will not fight.

_Tow._ Fear not, my Isabinda; things are not grown to that extremity.

_Isab._ I leave you, but I doubt the consequence. [_Exit_ ISAB.

_Tow._ I want a name to call you by; friend, you declare you are not,
and to rival, I am not yet enough accustomed.