As wandering saints poor huts have sacred made,
He hallows every heart he once has sway'd,
And, when his presence we no longer share,
Still leaves compassion as a relic there. [_Exeunt_.]




ACT III.

SCENE I.--_A Library in_ DON JEROME'S _House_.


Enter_ DON JEROME _and_ SERVANT.

_Don Jer_. Why, I never was so amazed in my life! Louisa gone off with
Isaac Mendoza! What! steal away with the very man whom I wanted her to
marry--elope with her own husband, as it were--it is impossible!

_Ser_. Her maid says, sir, they had your leave to walk in the garden,
while you were abroad. The door by the shrubbery was found open, and
they have not been heard of since. [_Exit_.]

_Don Jer_. Well, it is the most unaccountable affair! 'sdeath! there
is certainly some infernal mystery in it I can't comprehend!


_Enter_ SECOND SERVANT, _with a letter_.

_Ser_. Here is a letter, sir, from Signor Isaac. [_Exit_.]