_Isab._ What harm can there be in a little fresh Air, Sir?

Sir _Jeal._ Is your Constitution so hot, Mistriss, that it wants
cooling, ha? Apply the Virtuous _Spanish_ Rules, banish your Tast, and
Thoughts of Flesh, feed upon Roots, and quench your Thirst with Water.

_Isab._ That, and a close Room, wou'd certainly make me die of the
Vapours.

Sir _Jeal._ No, Mistriss, 'tis your High-fed, Lusty, Rambling, Rampant
Ladies--that are troubl'd with the Vapours; 'tis your Ratifia, Persico,
Cynamon, Citron, and Spirit of Clary, cause such Swi--m--ing in the
Brain, that carries many a Guinea full-tide to the Doctor. But you are
not to be Bred this way; No Galloping abroad, no receiving Visits at
home; for in our loose Country, the Women are as dangerous as the Men.

_Patch._ So I told her, Sir; and that it was not Decent to be seen in a
Balcone--But she threaten'd to slap my Chaps, and told me, I was her
Servant, not her Governess.

Sir _Jeal._ Did she so? But I'll make her to know, that you are her
_Duenna_: Oh that incomparable Custom of _Spain!_ why here's no
depending upon old Women in my Country--for they are as Wanton at
Eighty, as a Girl of Eighteen; and a Man may as safely trust to
_Asgill_'s Translation, as to his great Grand-Mother's not marrying
agen.

_Isab._ Or to the _Spanish_ Ladies Veils, and _Duenna's_, for the
Safeguard of their Honour.