_Pet_. Ay, Signior, in your Country the Laity have so little Honesty,

they are not to be trusted with the taking off your Beard unless you

see’t done:--but here’s a Glass, Sir.

[_Gives him the Glass_.

[Tick. _sets himself and smirks in the Glass_, Pet. _standing

behind him, making horns and grimaces, which_ Tick. _sees in the

Glass, gravely rises, turns towards_ Petro.

_Tick_. Why, how now, _Barberacho_, what monstrous Faces are you making

there?

_Pet_. All, my Belly, my Belly, Signior: ah, this Wind-Cholick! this

Hypocondriack does so torment me! ah--

_Tick_. Alas, poor Knave; _certo_, I thought thou hadst been somewhat

uncivil with me, I profess I did.

_Pet_. Who, I, Sir, uncivil?--I abuse my Patrone!--I that have almost

made my self a Pimp to serve you?

_Tick_. Teze, teze, honest _Barberacho!_ no, no, no, all’s well, all’s

well:--but hark ye--you will be discreet and secret in this business now,

and above all things conceal the knowledge of this Gentlewoman from Sir

_Signal_ and Mr. _Galliard_.

_Pet_. The Rack, Signior, the Rack shall not extort it.

_Tick_. Hold thy Hand--there’s somewhat for thee, [_Gives him Money_.]

but shall I, Rogue--shall I see her to night?--

_Pet_. To night, Sir, meet me in the Piazza _D’Hispagnia_, about ten a

Clock,--I’ll meet you there,--but ‘tis fit, Signior--that I should

provide a Collation,--’tis the custom here, Sir.--

_Tick_. Well, well, what will it come to?--here’s an Angel.--

_Pet_. Why, Sir, ‘twill come to--about--for you wou’d do’t handsomely--

some twenty Crowns.--

_Tick_. How, man, twenty Crowns!

_Pet_. Ay, Signior, thereabouts.

_Tick_. Twenty Crowns!--Why, ‘tis a Sum, a Portion, a Revenue.

_Pet_. Alas, Signior, ‘tis nothing with her,--she’ll look it out in an

hour,--ah, such an Eye, so sparkling, with an amorous Twire--Then, Sir--

she’ll kiss it out in a moment,--such a Lip, so red, so round, so plump,

so soft, and so--

_Tick_. Why, has she, has she, Sirrah--hah--here, here, prithee take

money, here, and make no words on’t--go, go your way, go--But to

entertain Sir _Signal_ with other matter, pray send his Masters to him;

if thou canst help him to Masters, and me to Mistresses, thou shalt be

the good Genius of us both: but see where he comes--

_Enter Sir_ Signal.

Sir _Sig_. Hah! _Signior Illustrissimo Barberacho_, let me hug thee, my

little _Miphistophiloucho_--de ye see here, how fine your Brokering Jew

has made me, Signior _Rabbi Manaseth--Ben--Nebiton_, and so forth; hah--

view me round--

[_Turns round_.

_Tick_. I profess ‘tis as fit as if it had been made for you.

Sir _Sig_. Made for me--Why, Sir, he swore to me by the old Law, that

’.was never worn but once, and that but by one High-German Prince--I have

forgot his name--for the Devil can never remember a fart these dam’d

_Hogan-Mogan_ Titles.

_Tick_. No matter, Sir.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, but I shou’d be loth to be in any man’s Clothes, were he

never so high a German Prince--except I knew his name though.

_Tick_. Sir, I hold his name unnecessary to be remembred, so long as

’.was a princely Penniworth.--_Barberacho_, get you gone, and send the

Masters.

[_Ex_. Petro.

Sir _Sig_. Why, how now, Governour? how now, Signior _Tickletext_!

prithee how camest thou so transmogrified, ha? why, thou look’st like any

new-fledg’d _Cupid_.

_Tick_. Do I? away, you flatter; do I?

Sir _Sig_. As I hope to breathe, your Face shines through your pouder’d

Hairs, like you know what on a Barn-door in a frosty morning.

_Tick_. What a filthy comparison there for a man of my Coat?

Sir _Sig_. What, angry--_Corpo di me_, I meant no harm,--Come, shall’s to

a _Bonaroba_, where thou shalt part with thy Pusilage, and that of thy

Beard together?

_Tick_. How mean you, Sir, a Curtezan, and a Romish Curtezan?

Sir _Sig_. Now my Tutor’s up, ha, ha, ha--and ever is when one names a

Whore; be pacify’d, Man, be pacify’d, I know thou hat’st ‘em worse than

Beads or Holy-water.

_Tick_. Away, you are such another Knight--but leave this naughty

discourse, and prepare for your Fencing and Civility-Masters, who are

coming.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, when, Governour, when? Oh, how I long for my

Civility-Master, that I may learn to out-complement all the dull

Knights and Squires in _Kent_, with a _Servitore Hulichimo--No

Signiora Bellissima, base le Mane de vos Signiora scusa mia

Illustrissimo, caspeto de Bacco_, and so I’ll run on, hah, Governour,

hah! won’t this be pure?

_Tick_. Notably ingenious, I profess.

Sir _Sig_. Well, I’ll send my _Staffiera_ for him _incontinente_.--he,

_Jack_--a--_Cazo_, what a damned _English_ name is _Jack_? let me see--I

will call him _Giovanni_--which is as much as to say _John_!--he

_Giovanni_.

_Enter_ Jack.

_Tick_. Sir, by your favour, his _English_ Protestant Name is _John

Pepper_, and I’ll call him by ne’er a Popish Name in Christendom.

Sir _Sig_. I’ll call my own man, Sir, by what name I please, Sir; and let

me tell you, Reverend Mr. _Tickletext_, I scorn to be served by any man

whose name has not an _Acho_ or an _Oucho_, or some _Italiano_ at the end

on’t--therefore _Giovanni Peperacho_ is the name by which you shall be

distinguish’d and dignify’d hereafter.

_Tick_. Sir _Signal_, Sir _Signal_, let me tell you, that to call a man

out of his name is unwarrantable, for _Peter_ is call’d _Peter_, and

_John John_; and I’ll not see the poor Fellow wrong’d of his Name for

ne’er a _Giovanni_ in _Rome_.

Sir _Sig_. Sir, I tell you that one _Italian_ Name is worth any two

_English_ Names in Europe, and I’ll be judg’d by my Civility-Master.

_Tick_. Who shall end the dispute if he be of my opinion?

Sir _Sig_. _Multo voluntiero_, which is as much as to say, with all my

heart.

_Jack_. But, Sir, my Grandmother wou’d never own me, if I should change

the cursen Name she gave me with her own hands, an’t please your Worship.

Sir _Sig_. He _Bestia_! I’ll have no more of your Worship, Sirrah, that

old _English_ Sir Reverence, let me have you call me _Signior

Illustrissimo_ or Patrona Mea_--or--

_Tick_. Ay, that I like well enough now:--but hold, sure this is one of

your Masters.

_Enter_ Petro _drest like a French Fencing-Master_.

_Pet_. Signior _Barberacho_ has sent me to teach you de Art of Fencing.

Sir _Sig_. _Illustrissimo Signior Monsieur_, I am the Person who am to

learn.

_Tick_. Stay, Sir, stay--let me ask him some few questions first: for,

Sir, I have play’d at Back-Sword, and cou’d have handled ye a weapon as

well as any Man of my time in the University.

Sir _Sig_. Say you so, Mr. _Tickletext?_ and faith, you shall have a bout

with him.

[Tick. _gravely goes to_ Petro.

_Tick_. Hum--hum--Mr. _Monsieur_--pray what are the Guards that you like

best?

_Pet_. _Monsieur, eder de Quart or de Terse_, dey be both _French_ and

_Italian_: den for your Parades, Degagements, your Advancements, your

Eloynements and Retierments, dey be de same.

_Tick_. Cart and Horse, what new-found inventions and words have we

here?--Sir, I wou’d know, whether you like St. _George’s_ Guard or not.

_Pet_. Alons--_Monsieur, Mettez vous en Guard!_ take de Flurette.

Sir _Sig_. Nay, faith and troth, Governor, thou shalt have a Rubbers with

him.

[Tick, _smiling refuses_.

_Tick_. Nay, _certo_, Sir _Signal_,--and yet you shall prevail;--well,

Sir, come your ways.

[_Takes the Flurette_.

_Pet_. Set your right foot forward, turn up your hand so--dat be _de

Quart_--now turn it dus--and dat be _de Terse_.

_Tick_. Hocus Pocus, Hicksius Doxius--here be de Cart, and here be de

Horse--why, what’s all this for; hah, Sir--and where’s your Guard all

this while?

Sir _Sig_. Ay, Sir, where’s your Guard, Sir, as my Governour says, Sir,

hah?

_Tick_. Come, come, Sir, I must instruct you, I see; Come your ways,

Sir.--

_Pet_. _Attende, attende une peu_--trust de right hand and de right leg

forward together.--

_Tick_. I marry, Sir, that’s a good one indeed: What shall become of my

Head then, Sir? what Guard have I left for that, good Mr. _Monsieur_,

hah?

_Pet_. Ah, Morbleu, is not dis for every ting?

_Tick_. No, marry, is not it, Sir; St. _George’s_ Guard is best for the

Head whilst you live--as thus, Sir.

_Pet_. Dat, Sir, ha, ha--dat be de Guard for de Back-Sword.

_Tick_. Back-sword, Sir, yes, Back-sword, what shou’d it be else?

_Pet_. And dis be de Single-Rapier.

_Tick_. Single-Rapier with a Vengeance, there’s a weapon for a Gentleman

indeed; is all this stir about Single-Rapier?

_Pet_. Single-Rapier! What wou’d you have for de Gentlemen, de Cudgel for

de Gentlemen?

_Tick_. No, Sir, but I wou’d have it for de Rascally _Frenchman_,

who comes to abuse Persons of Quality with paltry Single-Rapier.--

Single-Rapier! Come, Sir, come--put your self in your Cart and your

Horse as you call it, and I’ll shew you the difference.

[_Undresses himself till he appears in a ridiculous Posture_.

_Pet_. Ah, _Monsieur_, me sall run you two three times through de Body,

and den you break a me head, what care I for dat?--Pox on his ignorance.

[_Aside_.

_Tick_. Oh, ho, Sir, do your worst, Sir, do your worst, Sir.

[_They put themselves into several Guards, and_ Tick. _beats_

Pet. _about the Stage.--Enter_ Gall. Fill. _and_ Jul.

_Pet_. Ah, _Monsieur, Monsieur_, will you kill a me?

_Tick_. Ah, _Monsieur_, where be your Carts now, and your Horse, Mr.

_Monsieur_, hah?--and your Single-Rapier, Mr. _Monsieur_, hah?--

_Gal_. Why, how now, Mr. _Tickletext_, what mortal Wars are these? _Ajax_

and _Ulysses_ contending for _Achilles_ his Armour?

_Pet_. If I be not reveng’d on him, hang me. [_Aside_

Sir _Sig_. Ay, why, who the Devil wou’d have taken my Governor for so

tall a man of hands? but _Corpo de me_, Mr. _Galliard_, I have not seen

his Fellow.

_Tick_. Ah, Sir, time was, I wou’d have play’d ye a Match at Cudgels with

e’er a Sophister in the College, but verily I have forgotten it; but

here’s an Impudent _Frenchman_ that wou’d have past Single-Rapier

upon us.

_Gal_. How, nay a my word, then he deserv’d to be chastis’d for’t--but

now all’s at Peace again; pray know my Kinsman, Sir _Harry Fillamour_.

Sir _Sig_. _Yo baco les manos_, Signior _Illustrissimo Cavaliero_,--and

yours, Signiors, who are _Multo bien Venito_.

_Tick_. Oh Lord, Sir, you take me, Sir, in such a posture, Sir, as I

protest I have not been in this many years.

[_Dressing himself whilst he talks_.

_Fil_. Exercise is good for health, Sir.

_Gal_. Sir _Signal_, you are grown a perfect _Italian_: Well, Mr.

_Tickletext_, you will carry him home a most accomplish’t Gentleman I

see.

_Tick_. Hum, verily, Sir, though I say it, for a Man that never travell’d

before, I think I have done reasonably well--I’ll tell you, Sir--it was

by my directions and advice that he brought over with him,--two _English_

Knives, a thousand of _English_ Pins, four pair of _Jersey_ Stockings,

and as many pair of Buckskin Gloves.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, Sir, for good Gloves you know are very scarce Commodities

in this Country.

_Jul_. Here, Sir, at _Rome_, as you say, above all other places.

_Tick_. _Certo_, mere hedging Gloves, Sir, and the clouterlest Seams.

_Fil_. Very right, Sir,--and now he talks of _Rome_,--Pray, Sir, give me

your opinion of the Place--Are there not noble Buildings here, rare

Statues, and admirable Fountains?

_Tick_. Your Buildings are pretty Buildings, but not comparable to our

University Buildings; your Fountains, I confess, are, pretty Springs,--

and your Statues reasonably well carv’d--but, Sir, they are so ancient

they are of no value: then your Churches are the worst that ever I saw--

that ever I saw.

_Gal_. How, Sir, the Churches, why I thought _Rome_ had been famous

throughout all _Europe_ for fine Churches.

_Fil_. What think you of St. _Peter’s_ Church, Sir? Is it not a glorious

Structure?

_Tick_. St. _Peter’s_ Church, Sir, you may as well call it St. _Peter’s_

Hall, Sir; it has neither Pew, Pulpit, Desk, Steeple, nor Ring of Bells;

and call you this a Church, Sir? No, Sir, I’ll say that for little

_England_, and a fig for’t, for Churches, easy Pulpits, [Sir _Sig.

speaks_, And sleeping Pews,] they are as well ordered as any Churches in

Christendom: and finer Rings of Bells, Sir, I am sure were never heard.

_Jul_. Oh, Sir, there’s much in what you say.

_Fil_. But then, Sir, your rich Altars, and excellent Pictures of the

greatest Masters of the World, your delicate Musick and Voices, make some

amends for the other wants.

_Tick_. How, Sir! tell me of your rich Altars, your Guegaws and Trinkets,

and Popish Fopperies, with a deal of Sing-song--when I say, give me, Sir,

five hundred close Changes rung by a set of good Ringers, and I’ll not

exchange ‘em for all the Anthems in _Europe_: and for the Pictures, Sir,

they are Superstition, idolatrous, and flat Popery.

_Fil_. I’ll convince you of that Error, that persuades you harmless

Pictures are idolatrous.

_Tick_. How, Sir, how, Sir, convince me! talk to me of being convinc’d,

and that in favour of Popery! No, Sir, by your favour I shall not be

convinc’d: convinc’d, quoth a!--no, Sir, fare you well, an you be for

convincing: come away, Sir _Signal_, fare you well, Sir, fare you well:--

convinc’d!

[_Goes out_.

Sir _Sig_. Ha, ha, ha, so now is my Governour gone in a Fustian-fume:

well, he is ever thus when one talks of Whoring and Religion: but come,

Sir, walk in, and I’ll undertake, my Tutor shall beg your Pardon, and

renounce his _English_ ill-bred Opinion; nay, his _English_ Churches too--all

but his own Vicaridge.

_Fil_. I have better diversion, Sir, I thank you--come, _Julio_, are you

for a Walk in the Garden of _Medices Villa_, ‘tis hard by?--

_Jul_. I’ll wait on you--

[_Ex_. Fil. _and_ Julio.

Sir _Sig_. How in the Garden of _Medices Villa_?--but, harkye,

_Galliard_, will the Ladies be there, the Curtezans, the _Bona Roba’s_,

the _Inamorata’s_, and the _Bell Ingrato’s_, hah?

_Gal_. Oh, doubtless, Sir.

[_Exit_. Gall.

Sir _Sig_. I’ll e’en bring my Governour thither to beg his Pardon, on

purpose to get an opportunity to see the fine Women; it may be I may get

a sight of my new Mistress, _Donna Silvianetta_, whom _Petro_ is to bring

me acquainted with.

[_Exeunt_.

ACT II.

SCENE I. _The Gardens of the Villa Medici_.

_Enter_ Morosini _and_ Octavio.

_Oct_. By Heaven, I will not eat, nor sleep, nor pray for any thing but

swift and sure Revenge, till I have found _Marcella_, that false

deceiving Beauty, or her Lover, my hated Rival _Fillamour_; who, wanton

in the Arms of the fair Fugitive, laughs at my shameful easiness, and

cries, these Joys were never meant for tame _Octavio_.

_Enter_ Crapine.

_Mar_. How now, _Crapine_! What, no News, no News of my Nieces yet,

_Marcella_ and _Cornelia_?

_Crap_. None, Sir.

_Oct_. That’s wondrous strange, _Rome’s_ a place of that general

Intelligence, methinks thou might’st have News of such trivial things as

Women, amongst the Cardinals Pages: I’ll undertake to learn the Religion

_de stato_, and present juncture of all affairs in _Italy_, of a common

Curtezan.

_Mar_. Sirrah, Sirrah, let it be your care to examine all the Nunneries,

for my own part not a Petticoat shall escape me.

_Oct_. My task shall be for _Fillamour_. [_Aside_.

_Mor_. I’ll only make a visit to your Sister _Donna Laura Lucretia_, and

deliver her a Letter from my Nephew _Julio_, and return to you

presently.--

[_Going out, is staid by_ Octavio.

_Oct_. Stay, Sir, defer your visit to my Sister _Laura_, she is not yet

to know of my being in Town; ‘tis therefore I have taken a Lodging in an

obscure street, and am resolv’d never to be my self again till I’ve

redeem’d my Honour. Come, Sir, let’s walk--

_Enter to them, as they are going out_, Marcella _and_ Cornelia,

_drest like Curtezans_, Philippa, _and Attendance_.

_Mor_. Stay, stay, what Women are these?

_Oct_. Whores, Sir, and so ‘tis ten to one are all the kind; only these

differ from the rest in this, they generously own their trade of Sin,

which others deal by stealth in; they are Curtezans.

[_Exeunt_.

_Mar_. The Evening’s soft and calm, as happy Lovers Thoughts;

And here are Groves where the kind meeting Trees

Will hide us from the amorous gazing Croud.

_Cor_. What should we do there, sigh till our wandering Breath

Has rais’d a gentle Gale amongst the Boughs;

To whose dull melancholy Musick we,

Laid on a Bed of Moss, and new-fallen Leaves,

Will read the dismal tale of Echo’s Love!

--No, I can make better use of famous _Ovid_.

[_Snatches a little Book from her_.

And prithee what a pox have we to do with Trees,

Flowers, Fountains, or naked Statues?

_Mar_. But, prithee, mad _Cornelia_, let’s be grave and wise, at least

enough to think a little.

_Cor_. On what? your _English_ Cavalier _Fillamour_, of whom you tell so

many dull stories of his making Love! Oh, how I hate a civil whining

Coxcomb!

_Mar_. And so do I, I’ll therefore think of him no more.

_Cor_. Good Lord! what a damnable wicked thing is a Virgin grown up to

Woman.

_Mar_. What, art thou such a Fool to think I love this _Fillamour?_

_Cor_. It may be not at _Rome_, but at _Viterbo_, where Men are scarce,

you did; and did you follow him to _Rome_, to tell him you cou’d love no

more?

_Mar_. A too forward Maid, _Cornelia_, hurts her own Fame, and that of

all her Sex.

_Cor_. Her Sex! a pretty consideration, by my Youth; an Oath I shall not

violate this dozen years: my Sex shou’d excuse me, if to preserve their

Fame they expected I should ruin my own Quiet; in chasing an ill-favour’d

Husband, such as _Octavio_, before a young handsome Lover, such as you

say _Fillamour_ is.

_Mar_. I wou’d fain persuade my self to be of thy mind,--but the World,

_Cornelia_--

_Cor_. Hang the malicious World--

_Mar_. And there’s such Charms in Wealth and Honour too.

_Cor_. None half so powerful as Love, in my opinion; ‘slife, Sister, thou

art beautiful, and hast a Fortune too, which before I wou’d lay out upon

so shameful a purchase as such a Bedfellow for life as _Octavio_, I wou’d

turn errant keeping Curtezan, and buy my better Fortune.

_Mar_. That Word too startles me.

_Cor_. What, Curtezan! why, ‘tis a noble Title, and has more Votaries

than Religion; there’s no Merchandize like ours, that of Love, my

Sister:--and can you be frighted with the Vizor, which you your self put

on?

_Mar_. ‘Twas the only Disguise that cou’d secure us from the search of my

Uncle and _Octavio_. Our Brother _Julio_ is by this too arriv’d, and I

know they’ll all be diligent,--and some Honour I was content to sacrifice

to my eternal Repose.

_Cor_. Spoke like my Sister! a little impertinent Honour, we may chance

to lose, ‘tis true; but our down-right Honesty I perceive you are

resolv’d we shall maintain through all the dangers of Love and Gallantry;

though to say truth, I find enough to do, to defend my Heart against some

of those Members that nightly serenade us, and daily show themselves

before our Window, gay as young Bridegrooms, and as full of expectation.

_Mar_. But is’t not wondrous, that amongst all these Crouds we should not

once see _Fillamour_? I thought the Charms of a fair young Curtezan might

have oblig’d him to some Curiosity at least.

_Cor_. Ay! and an _English_ Cavalier too, a Nation so fond of all new

Faces.

_Mar_. Heaven, if I should never see him, and I frequent all publick

Places to meet him! or if he be gone

from _Rome_, if he have forgot me, or some other Beauty

have employ’d his Thoughts!

_Cor_. Why; if all these if’s and or’s come to pass, we

have no more to do than to advance in this same glorious

Profession, of which now we only seem to be--in which,

to give it its due, there are a thousand Satisfactions to be

found, more than in a dull virtuous Life: Oh, the world

of Dark-Lanthorn-Men we should have! the Serenades,

the Songs, the Sighs, the Vows, the Presents, the Quarrels,

and all for a Look or a Smile, which you have been

hitherto so covetous of, that _Petro_ swears our Lovers begin

to suspect us for some honest Jilts; which by some is

accounted much the leuder scandal of the two:--therefore

I think, faith, we must e’en be kind a little to redeem

our Reputations.

_Mar_. However we may railly, certainly there’s nothing

so hard to Woman, as to expose her self to villainous Man.

_Cor_. Faith, Sister, if ‘twere but as easy to satisfy the nice scruples

of Religion and Honour, I should find no great Difficulty in the rest--

Besides, another Argument I have, our Mony’s all gone, and without a

Miracle can hold out no longer honestly.

_Mar_. Then we must sell our Jewels.

_Cor_. When they are gone, what Jewel will you part with next?

_Mar_. Then we must--

_Cor_. What, go home to _Viterbo_, ask the old Gentleman pardon, and be

receiv’d to Grace again, you to the Embraces of the amiable _Octavio_,

and I to St. _Teresa’s_, to whistle through a Grate like a Bird in a

Cage,--for I shall have little heart to sing.--But come, let’s leave

This sad talk, here’s Men--let’s walk and gain new Conquest, I love

it dearly--

[_Walk down the Garden_.

_Enter_ Gall. Fill, _and_ Jul. _see the Women_.

_Gal_. Women! and by their garb for our purpose too--they’re Curtezans,

let’s follow ‘em.

_Fil_. What shall we get by gazing but Disquiet? If they are fair and

honest, we look, and perhaps may sigh in vain; if beautiful and loose,

they are not worth regarding.

_Gal_. Dear notional Knight, leave your satirical Fopperies, and be at

least good-humour’d, and let’s follow them.

_Jul_. I’ll leave you in the Pursuit, and take this Opportunity to write

my Uncle word of my Arrival; and wait on you here anon.

_Fil_. Prithee do so: hah, who’s that with such an Equipage?

[_Exit_ Julio, Fil. _and_ Gal. _going after_. Marcella

_and_ Cor. _meet just entring_, Laura _with_ Silvio,

Antonio, _and her Equipage, drest like a Man_.

_Gal_. Pox, let the Tradesmen ask, who cringe for such gay Customers, and

follow us the Women!

[_Exit_ Fil. _and_ Gal. _down the Scene_, Lau. _looking after ‘em_.

_Lau_. ‘Tis he, my Cavalier, my Conqueror: _Antonio_, let the Coaches

wait,--and stand at distance all: Now, _Silvio_, on thy Life forget my

Sex and Quality, forget my useless name of _Laura Lucretia_, and call me

Count of--

_Sil_. What, Madam?

_Lau_. Madam! ah, foolish Boy, thy feminine Courage will betray us all:--

but--call me Count--_Sans Coeur_.--And tell me, _Silvio_, how is it I

appear?

How dost thou like my Shape--my Face and Dress? My Mien and Equipage, may

I not pass for Man? Looks it _en Prince_ and Masculine?

_Sil_. Now as I live, you look all over what you wish, and such as will

beget a Reverence and Envy in the Men, and Passion in the Women. But

what’s the Cause of all this Transformation?

_Lau_. Love! Love! dull Boy, cou’dst thou not guess ‘twas Love? that dear

_Englese_ I must enjoy, my _Silvio_.

_Sil_. What, he that adores the fair young Curtezan?

_Lau_. That very he; my Window joins to hers, and ‘twas with Charms.

Which he’ad prepar’d for her, he took this Heart,

Which met the welcome Arrows in their flight,

And sav’d her from their Dangers.

Oft I’ve return’d the Vows he’as made to her,

And sent him pleas’d away;

When through the errors of the Night, and distance,

He has mistook me for that happy Wanton,

And gave me Language of so soft a Power,

As ne’er was breath’d in vain to listning Maids.

_Sil_. But with Permission, Madam, how does this Change of Petticoat for

Breeches, and shifting Houses too, advance that Love?

_Lau_. This Habit, besides many Opportunities ‘twill give me of getting

into his acquaintance, secures me too from being known by any of my

Relations in _Rome_: then I have changed my House for one so near to that

of _Silvianetta’s_, and so like it too, that even you and I have oft

mistook the entrance: by which means Love, Fortune or Chance, may with my

Industry contrive some kind Mistake that may make me happier than the

rest of Womankind.

_Sil_. But what shall be reserv’d then for Count _Julio_, whose last

Letters promise his Arrival within a Day or two, and whom you’re then to

marry?

_Lau_. Reserv’d for him! a Wife! a Wife, my _Silvio_,

That unconcern’d domestick Necessary,

Who rarely brings a Heart, or takes it soon away.--

_Sil_. But then your Brother, Count _Octavio_, do you not fear his

Jealousy?

_Lau_. _Octavio!_ Oh, Nature has set his Soul and mine at odds,

And I can know no Fear but where I love.

_Sil_. And then that thing which Ladies call their Honour.--

_Lau_. Honour, that hated Idol, even by those

That set it up to worship! No,

I have a Soul, my Boy, and that’s all Love;

And I’ll the Talent which Heaven lent improve.

[_Going out, meets_ Marcella _and_ Cornelia _follow’d

by_ Gal. _and_ Fil.

_Sil_. Here be the Curtezans, my Lord.

_Lau_. Hah, _Silvianetta_ and _Euphemia_! pursu’d too by my Cavalier!

I’ll round the Garden, and mix my self amongst ‘em.

[_Exit with_ Silvio _and her Train_.

_Mar_. Prithee, Sister, let’s retire into the Grove, to avoid the Pursuit

of these Cavaliers.

_Cor_. Not I, by these killing Eyes! I’ll stand my ground were there a

thousand, all arm’d with conquering Beauty.

_Mar_. Hah--now on my Conscience yonder’s _Fillamour_.

_Cor_. Hah! _Fillamour_!

_Mar_. My Courage fails me at the sight of him--I must retire.

_Cor_. And I’ll to my Art of Love.

[Mar. _retires, and leans against a Tree_,

Cor. _walks about reading_.

_Gal_. ‘Tis she, ‘tis _Silvianetta_: Prithee advance, that thou mayst

behold her, and renounce all honest Women; since in that one young Sinner

there are Charms that wou’d excuse even to thee all frailty.

_Fil_. The Forms of Angels cou’d not reconcile me

To Women of her Trade.

_Gal_. This is too happy an Opportunity, to be lost in convincing thy

Singularity,--

[Gal. _goes bowing by the side of_ Cornelia. Fil.

_walks about in the Scene_.

--If Creatures so fair and charming as your self, had any need of Prayer,

I shou’d believe by your profound Attention you were at your Evening’s

Devotion.

_Cor_. That you may find your Mistake in the opinion of my Charms, pray

believe I am so, and ought not to be interrupted.

_Gal_. I hope a Man may have leave to make his Devotions by you, at least

without Danger or Offence.

_Cor_. I know not that, I have reason to fear your Devotion may be

ominous; like a blazing Star, it comes but seldom,--but ever threatens

mischief--Pray Heaven, I share not in the Calamity.

_Gal_. Why, I confess, Madam, my Fit of Zeal does not take me often; but

when it does, ‘tis very harmless and wondrous hearty.--

_Cor_. You may begin then, I shall not be so wicked as to disturb you

Orisons.

_Gal_. Wou’d I cou’d be well assur’d of that, for mine’s Devotion of

great Necessity, and the Blessing I pray for infinitely concerns me;

therefore in Christian Charity keep down your Eyes, and do not ruin a

young Man’s good Intentions, unless they wou’d agree to send kind Looks,

and save me the expence of Prayer.

_Cor_. Which wou’d be better laid out, you think, upon some other

Blessing.

_Gal_. Why, faith, ‘tis good to have a little Bank upon occasion, though

I hope I shall have no great need here-after,--if the charming

_Silvianetta_ be but kind, ‘tis all I ask of Heaven.

_Cor_. You’re very well acquainted with my Name, I find.

_Gal_. Your Name! ‘tis all I have to live on!

Like chearful Birds, ‘tis the first Tune I sing,

To welcome in the Day:

The Groves repeat it, and the Fountains purle it,

And every pretty Sound that fills my Ear.

Turns all to _Silvianetta_.

[Fil. _looks awhile on_ Marcella.

_Fil. Galliard_, look there--look on that lovely Woman; ‘tis _Marcella_,

the beautiful _Marcella_.

[_Offers to run to her_, Gal. _holds him_.

_Gal_. Hold! _Marcella_! where?

_Fil_. That Lady there; didst ever see her equal?

_Gal_. Why, faith, as you say, _Harry_, that Lady is beautiful--and, make

us thankful--kind: why, ‘tis _Euphemia_, Sir, the very Curtezan I wou’d

have shew’d you.--

_Fil_. Forbear, I am not fit for Mirth.

_Gal_. Nor I in Humour to make you merry;

I tell ye--yonder Woman--is a Curtezan.

_Fil_. Do not profane, nor rob Heaven of a Saint.

_Gal_. Nor you rob Mankind of such a Blessing, by giving it to Heaven

before its time.--I tell thee ‘tis a Whore, a fine desirable expensive

Whore.

_Fil_. By Heaven, it cannot be! I’ll speak to her, and call her my

_Marcella_, and undeceive thy leud Opinion.

[_Offers to go, he holds him_.

_Gal_. Do, salute her in good Company for an honest Woman--do, and spoil

her Markets:--’twill be a pretty civil spiteful Compliment, and no doubt

well taken;--come, I’ll convince ye, Sir.

[_Goes and pulls_ Philippa.

--Harkye, thou kind Help meet for Man--thou gentle Child of Night--what

is the Price of a Night or two ot Pleasure with yonder Lady--_Euphemia_,

I mean, that Roman Curtezan--

_Fil_. Oh, Heavens! a Curtezan!

_Phil_. Sure you’re a great Stranger in _Rome_, that cannot tell her

Price.

_Gal_. I am so; name it, prithee, here’s a young _English_ Purchaser--

Come forward, Man, and cheapen for your self--

[_Pulls him_.

_Phil_. Oh, spare your pains, she wants no Customers.--

[_Flings away_.

_Fil_. No, no, it cannot, must not be _Marcella_;

She has too much Divinity about her,

Not to defend her from all Imputation,

Scandal wou’d die to hear her Name pronounc’d.

_Phil_. Believe me, Madam, he knows you not; I over-heard all he said to

that Cavalier, and find he’s much in love.

_Mar_. Not know me, and in love! punish him, Heaven, for his Falshood:

but I’ll contribute to deceive him on, and ruin him with Perjury.

_Fil_. I am not yet convinc’d, I’ll try her farther.

[_Goes to her bowing_.]--But, Madam, is that heavenly Beauty

purchasable? I’ll pay a Heart, rich with such Wounds and Flames--

_Gal_. Not forgetting the Money too, good Lad, or your Wounds and Flames

will be of little Use.

[Gal. _goes to_ Cornelia.

_Mar_. He tells you Truth, Sir, we are not like the Ladies of your

Country, who tire out their Men with loving upon the square, Heart for

Heart, till it becomes as dull as Matrimony: to Women of our Profession

there’s no Rhetorick like ready Money, nor Billet-deux like Bills of

Exchange.

_Fil_. Oh! that Heaven shou’d make two Persons so resembling, and yet

such different Souls. [_Looks on her_.--’Sdeath, how she darts me

through with every Look! But if she speak, she heals the Wound again.

_Enter_ Octavio, _with Followers_.

_Oct_. Hah, my Rival _Fillamour_ here! fall on--draw, Sir,--and say, I

gave you one Advantage more, and fought thee fairly.

[_Draws on_ Fil. _who fights him out; the Ladies run off_:

Gal. _falls on the Followers, with whom whilst he is

engaged, enters_ Julio, _draws and assists him, and

Laura _at the same time on the other side. Enter_

Petro _drest like a Civility-Master; Sir_ Signal _and

Tickletext_: Sir_ Signal _climbs a Tree_, Tick _runs his

Head into a Bush, and lies on his Hands and Knees_. Pet.

assists_ Gal. _and fights out the Bravoes_. Pet. _re-enters_.

_Lau_. Hah, my Cavalier engag’d amongst the Slaves!

_Pet_. My Lady’s Lovers! and set upon by _Octavio_! We must be diligent

in our Affairs; Sir _Signal_, where are ye? Signior _Tickletext_.--I hope

they have not miscarried in the fray.

Sir _Sig_. Oh, _vos Servitor, vos Signiora_; miscarried! no, the Fool has

Wit enough to keep out of harm’s way.

[_Comes down from the Tree_.

_Pet_. Oh, very discreetly done, Signior.--

[_Sees_ Tick, _in a bush, pulls him out by the heels_.

Sir _Sig_. Why, how now, Governour, what, afraid of Swords?

_Tick_. No, Sir, I am not afraid of Swords, but I am afraid of Danger.

_Enter_ Gal. _embracing_ Laura; _after ‘em_, Julio _and_ Fil.

Fil. _looks about_.

_Gal_. This Bravery, Sir, was wondrous.

_Lau_. ‘Twas only Justice, Sir, you being opprest with odds.

_Fil_. She’s gone, she’s gone in Triumph with my Soul.

_Jul_. What was the matter, Sir? how came this Mischief?

_Fil_. Oh, easily, Sir; I did but look, and infinitely loved.

_Jul_. And therefore were you drawn upon, or was it some old Pique?

_Fil_. I know not, Sir, Oh, tell me not of Quarrels. The Woman, Friend,

the Woman has undone me.

_Gal_. Oh, a blessed Hearing! I’m glad of the Reformation: Sir, you were

so squeamish, forsooth, that a Whore wou’d not down with ye; no, ‘twou’d

spoil your Reputation.--

_Fil_. A Whore! wou’d I cou’d be convinc’d she were so; ‘twou’d call my

Virtue home, and make me Man again.

_Gal_. Thou ly’st--thou’rt as weak a Brother as the best of us, and

believe me, _Harry_, these sort of Damsels are like Witches, if they once

get hold of a Man, he’s their own till the Charm be ended; you guess what

that is, Sir?

_Fil_. Oh, _Frank_, hadst thou then felt how tenderly she prest my Hand

in hers, as if she wou’d have kept it there for ever, it wou’d have made

thee mad, stark mad in Love!--and nothing but _Marcella_ cou’d have

charm’d me. [_Aside_.

_Gal_. Ay, Gad, I’ll warrant thee,--well, thou shalt this Night enjoy

her.

_Fil_. How?

_Gal_. How! why, faith, _Harry_, e’en the old way, I know no other. Why,

thou shalt lie with her, Man; come, let’s to her.

_Fil_. Away, let’s follow her instantly.

[_Going out is stopt by Sir_ Signal_.

_Enter Sir_ Sig. Tick. Petro.

Sir _Sig_. Signior, I have brought Mr. _Tickletext_ to beg your Pardon--

Sir.

_Fil_. I’ve other business, Sir. [_Goes out_.

_Gal_. Come, let’s follow him; and you, my generous Cavalier, must give

me leave to beg the Honour of your Friendship.

_Lau_. My Inclinations, Sir, have given you more--pray let me wait on you

to your Lodgings, lest a farther Insolence shou’d be offer’d you.

_Gal_. Sir, you oblige too fast.

[_They go out_.

Sir _Sig_. Ah, _che Diavilo Ayles_, these hot-brain’d fellows, sure,

they’re drunk.

_Pet_. Oh, fy, Signior, drunk, for a Man of Quality--’tis intolerable.

Sir _Sig_. Ay: why how so, Signior _Morigoroso_?

_Pet. Imbriaco_ had made it a fine Speech indeed.

Sir _Sig_. Why, faith, and so it had, as thus,--_ach Diavilo Ayles_,

these are hot-brain’d Fellows, sure they are _imbriaco_,--Now, wou’d not

I be drunk for a thousand Crowns: _Imbriaco_ sounds _Cinquante per cent_

better.--Come, noble Signior, let’s _andiamo a casa_, which is as much as

to say, let’s amble home.--

_Tick_. In troth, wondrous expert--_Certo_, Signior, he’s an apt Scholar.

Sir _Sig_. Ah, Sir, you shall see, when I come to my Civilities.--

_Pet_. Where the first Lesson you shall learn, is, how to give and how to

receive with a Bon-Grace.

_Tick_. That receiving Lesson I will learn my self.

_Pet_. This unfrequented part of the Garden, Signior, will fit our

purpose as well as your Lodgings.--first then--Signiors, your Address.

[_Puts himself in the middle_.

[Petro _bows on both sides, they do the like_.

--Very well, that’s at the Approach of any Person of

Quality, after which you must take out your Snuff-Box.

Sir _Sig_. Snuff-Box; why, we take no Snuff, Signior.

_Pet_. Then, Sir, by all means you must learn: for besides the Mode and

Gravity of it, it inviveates the _Pericranium_; that is, sapientates the

Brain,--that is, inspires Wit, Thought, Invention, Understanding, and the

like--you conceive me, Signiors--

[_Bowing_.

Sir _Sig_. Most profoundly, Signior.--

[_Bowing_.

_Pet_.--Then, Signiors, it keeps you in confidence, and Countenance; and

whilst you gravely seem to take a snush, you gain time to answer to the

purpose, and in a politick Posture--as thus--to any intricate Question.

_Tick_. Hum--_certo_, I like that well; and ‘twere admirable if a Man

were allow’d to take it when he’s out in’s Sermon.

_Pet_. Doubtless, Signior, you might, it helps the Memory better than

Rosemary: therefore I have brought each of you a Snuff-Box.

Sir _Sig_. By no means: excuse me Signior.

[_Refuses to take ‘em_.

_Pet_. Ah, Baggatelles, Signior, Baggatelles; and now, Signiors, I’ll

teach you how to take it with a handsom Grace: Signior, your Hand--and

yours, Signior;

[_Lays Snuff on their hands_.

--so, now draw your hand to and fro under your Noses, and snuff it hard

up--Excellent well.

[_They daub all their Noses, and make Grimaces, and sneeze_.

Sir _Sig_. Methinks, Signior, this Snuff stinks most damnably: pray, what

scent do you call this?

_Pet_. _Cackamarda Orangate_, a rare Perfume I’ll assure ye, Sir.

Sir _Sig_. _Cackamarda Orangate_; and ‘twere not for the Name of

_Cackamarda_, and so forth, a Man had as good have a Sir-reverence at his

Nose.

[_Sneezes often, he crys_ bonprovache.

_Pet_. _Bonprovache_--Signior, you do not understand it yet,

_bonprovache_.

Sir _Sig_. Why, Sir, ‘tis impossible to endure this same _Cackamarda_;

why Assafetida is odoriferous to it.

[_Sneezing_.

_Pet_. ‘Tis your right _Dulce Piquante_, believe me:--but come, Signiors,

wipe your Noses, and proceed to your giving Lesson.

Sir _Sig_. As how, Signior?

_Pet_. Why--present me with something--that--Diamond on your Finger, to

shew the manner of giving handsomly.

[_Sir_ Sig. _gives it him_.

--Oh, fie, Signior--between your Finger and Thumb--thus--with your other

Fingers at a distance--with a speech, and a bow.--

Sir _Sig_. _Illustrissimo_ Signior, the manifold Obligations.

_Pet_. Now a fine turn of your hand--thus--Oh, that sets off the Present,

and makes it sparkle in the Eyes of the Receiver.--

[_Sir_ Sig. _turns his hand_.

Sir _Sig_. Which you have heap’d upon me,--

_Pet_. There flourish again.

[_He flourishes_.

Sir _Sig_. Oblige me to beg your acceptance of this small Present, which

will receive a double Lustre from your fair Hand.

[_Gives it him_.

_Pet_. Now kiss your fingers ends, and retire back with a bow.

_Tick_. Most admirably perform’d.

Sir _Sig_. Nay, Sir, I have Docity in me, though I say’t: Come, Governor,

let’s see how you can out-do me in the Art of presenting.

_Tick_. Well, Sir, come; your Snuff-Box will serve instead of my Ring,

will it not?

_Pet_. By no means, Sir, there is such a certain Relation between a

Finger and a Ring, that no Present becomes either the giving or the

receiving Hand half so well.

Sir _Sig_. Why, ‘twill be restor’d again, ‘tis but to practise by.

_Pet_. Ay, Signior, the next thing you are to learn is to receive.

_Tick_. Most worthy Signior, I have so exhausted the _Cornucopia_ of your

Favours, [_Flourishes_.]--and tasted so plenteously of the fulness of

your bounteous Liberality, that to retaliate with this small Gem--is but

to offer a Spark, where I have received a Beam of superabundant Sunshine.

[_Gives it_.

Sir _Sig_. Most rhetorically perform’d, as I hope to breathe;

Tropes and Figures all over.

_Tick_. Oh Lord, Sir _Signal_.

_Pet_. Excellent--Now let’s see if you can refuse as civilly as you gave,

which is by an obstinate denial; stand both together--Illustrious

Signiors, upon my Honour my little Merit has not intitled me to the Glory

of so splendid an Offering; Trophies worthy to be laid only at your

Magnanimous Feet.

Sir _Sig_. Ah, Signior, no, no.

_Pet_. Signior _Tickletext_.

[_He offers, they refuse going backward_.

_Tick_. Nay, _certo_, Signior.

_Pet_. With what confidence can I receive so rich a Present? Signior

_Tickletext_, ah--Signior--

Sir _Sig_. I vow, Signior--I’m ashamed you shou’d offer it.

_Tick_. In verity, so am I. [_Still going back, he follows_.]

_Pet. Pardio! Baccus_, most incomparable.--

_Tick_. But when, Signior, are we to learn to receive again?--

_Pet_. Oh, Sir, that’s always a Lesson of it self:--but now, Signiors,

I’ll teach you how to act a story.

Sir _Sig_. How, how, Signior, to act a story?

_Pet_. Ay, Sir, no matter for words or sense, so the Body perform its

part well.

Sir _Sig_. How, tell a story without words! why, this were an excellent

device for Mr. _Tickletext_, when he’s to hold forth to the Congregation,

and has lost his Sermon-Notes--why, this is wonderful.--

_Pet_. Oh, Sir, I have taught it Men born deaf [_Gets between ‘em:

Makes a sign of being fat; galloping about the Stage_.] and blind:--look

ye, stand close together, and observe--closer yet:--a certain

Eclejastico, Plump and Rich--Riding along the Road, meets a Paver

strapiao,--un Pavaro strapiao, Paure strapiao:--strapiao--strapiao--

strapiao [_Puts himself into the Posture of a lean Beggar; his hands

right down by his sides,--and picks both their Pockets_.] Elemosuna per

un Paure strapiao, par a Moure de Dievos--at last he begs a Julio--Neinte

[_makes the fat Bishop_.] the Paure strapiao begs a Mezo Julio--

[_lean_] Neinte [_fat_]--une bacio--[_lean_]--Neinte--

[_fat_]--at last he begs his Blessing--and see how willingly the

Ecclesiastico gave his Benediction. [_Opening his Arms, hits them both

in the face_.]--Scusa, scusa mea, Patronas--

[_Begs their pardon_.]

Sir _Sig_. Yes, very willingly, which by the way he had never done had it

been worth a farthing.

_Tick_. Marry, I wou’d he had been a little sparing of that too at this

time--[_sneezes_] a shame on’t, it has stir’d this same _Cackamarda_

again most foully.

_Pet_. Your pardon, Signior;--but come, Sir _Signal_,--let’s see how you

will make this silent relation--Come, stand between us two--

Sir _Sig_. Nay, let me alone for a memory--come.

_Pet_. I think I have reveng’d my Backsword-beating.

[_Goes off_.]

Sir _Sig_. Un paureo strapado--plump and rich, no, no, the Ecclesiastico

meet un paureo strapado--and begs a Julio.

_Tick_. Oh, no, Sir, the strapado begs the Julio.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, ay, and the Ecclesastico crys Niente--[_snaps his nail_.]

un meze Julio!--Niente--un Bacio, Niente: your Blessing then, Signior

Ecclesastico.

[_Spreads out his Arms to give his blessing--and hits_ Tick.]

_Tick_. Adds me, you are all a little too liberal of this same

Benediction.

Sir _Sig_. Hah--but where’s Signior _Morigoroso?_ what, is he gone?--but

now I think on’t, ‘tis a point of good manners to go without taking

leave.

_Tick_. It may be so, but I wish I had my Ring again, I do not like the

giving Lesson without the taking one; why this is picking a Man’s pocket,

_certo_.

Sir _Sig_. Not so, Governour, for then I had had a considerable loss:

Look ye here,--how--how [_feeling in his Pocket_.] how--[_in another_]

how--gone? gone as I live, my Money, Governour; all the Gold _Barberacho_

receiv’d of my Merchant to day--all gone.--

_Tick_. Hah--and mine--all my stock, the Money which I thought to have

made a present to the Gentlewoman, _Barberacho_ was to bring me to--

[_Aside_.]--Undone, undone--Villains, Cutpurses--Cheats, oh, run after

him.

Sir _Sig_. A Pox of all silent stories; Rogue, Thief--undone.--

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. _The Corso_.

_Enter_ Julio _and his_ Page.

_Jul_. How, the Lady whom I followed from St. _Peter’s_ Church, a

Curtezan?

_Pag_. A Curtezan, my Lord, fair as the Morning, and as young.

_Jul_. I know she’s fair and young; but is she to be had, Boy?

_Pag_. My Lord, she is--her Footman told me she was a Zittella.

_Jul_. How, a Zittella!--a Virgin, ‘tis impossible.

_Pag_. I cannot swear it, Sir, but so he told me; he said she had a World

of Lovers: Her name is _Silvianetta_, Sir, and her Lodgings--

_Jul_. I know’t, are on the _Corso_; a Curtezan? and a Zittella too? a

pretty contradiction; but I’ll bate her the last, so I might enjoy her as

the first: whate’er the price be, I’m resolv’d upon the adventure; and

will this minute prepare my self. [_Going off, Enter_ Mor. and Octa.]--

hah, does the Light deceive me, or is that indeed my Uncle, in earnest

conference with a Cavalier?--’tis he--I’ll step aside till he’s past,

lest he hinders this Night’s diversion.

[_Goes aside_.

_Mor_. I say ‘twas rashly done, to fight him unexamin’d.

_Oct_. I need not ask; my Reason has inform’d me, and I’m convinc’d,

where-e’er he has concealed her, that she is fled with _Fillamour_.

_Jul_. Who is’t they speak of?

_Mor_. Well, well, sure my Ancestors committed some horrid crime against

Nature, that she sent this Pest of Woman-kind into our Family,--two

Nieces for my share;--by Heaven, a Proportion sufficient to undo six

Generations.

_Jul_. Hah? two Nieces, what of them? [_Aside_.

_Mor_. I am like to give a blessed account of ‘em to their Brother

_Julio_ my Nephew, at his return; there’s a new plague now:--but my

comfort is, I shall be mad, and there’s an end on’t.

[_Weeps_.

_Jul_. My Curiosity must be satisfied,--have patience, Noble Sir.--

_Mor_. Patience is a flatterer, Sir,--and an Ass, Sir; and I’ll have none

on’t--hah, what art thou?

_Jul_. Has five or six Years made ye lose the remembrance of your

Nephew--_Julio_?

_Mor. Julio!_ I wou’d I had met thee going to thy Grave.

[_Weeps_.

_Jul_. Why so, Sir?

_Mor_. Your Sisters, Sir, your Sisters are both gone.--

[_Weeps_.

_Jul_. How gone, Sir?

_Mor_. Run away, Sir, flown, Sir.

_Jul_. Heavens! which way?

_Mor_. Nay, who can tell the ways of fickle Women--in short, Sir, your

Sister _Marcella_ was to have been married to this noble Gentleman,--nay,

was contracted to him, fairly contracted in my own Chappel; but no sooner

was his back turn’d, but in a pernicious Moon-light Night she shews me a

fair pair of heels, with the young Baggage, your other Sister _Cornelia_,

who was just come from the Monastery where I bred her, to see her Sister

married.

_Jul_. A curse upon the Sex! why must Man’s Honour Depend upon their

Frailty?

--Come--give me but any light which way they went, And I will trace ‘em

with that careful Vengeance--

_Oct_. Spoke like a Man, that understands his Honour; And I can guess how

we may find the Fugitives.

_Jul_. Oh, name it quickly, Sir!

_Oct_. There was a young Cavalier--some time at _Viterbo_, Who I confess

had Charms, Heaven has denied to me,

That Trifle, Beauty, which was made to please

Vain foolish Woman, which the brave and wise

Want leisure to design.--

_Jul_. And what of him?

_Oct_. This fine gay thing came in your Sister’s way,

And made that Conquest Nature meant such Fools for:

And, Sir, she’s fled with him.

_Jul_. Oh, show me the Man, the daring hardy Villain,

Bring me but in the view of my Revenge,--and if I fail to take it,

Brand me with everlasting Infamy.

_Oct_. That we must leave to Fortune, and our Industry.

--Come, Sir, let’s walk and think best what to do,--

[_Going down the Scene, Enter_ Fil. _and_ Gal.

_Fil_. Is not that _Julio_? Boy, run and call him back.

[_Ex. Boy, re-enters with_ Jul.

_Jul_. Oh, _Fillamour_, I have heard such killing news

Since last I left thee--

_Fil_. What, prithee?

_Jul_. I had a Sister, Friend--dear as my Life,

And bred with all the Virtues of her Sex;

No Vestals at the Holy Fire employ’d themselves

In innocenter business than this Virgin;

Till Love, the fatal Fever of her Heart,

Betray’d her harmless Hours;

And just upon the point of being married,

The Thief stole in, and rob’d us of this Treasure:

She’as left her Husband, Parents, and her Honour,

And’s fled with the base Ruiner of her Virtue.

_Fil_. And lives the Villain durst affront ye thus?

_Jul_. He does.

_Gal_. Where, in what distant World?

_Jul_. I know not.

_Fil_. What is he call’d?

_Jul_. I know not neither,--some God direct me to the Ravisher!

And if he scape my Rage,

May Cowards point me out for one of their tame Herd.

_Fil_. In all your Quarrels I must join my Sword.

_Gal_. And if you want,--here’s another, Sir, that, though it be not

often drawn in anger, nor cares to be, shall not be idle in good company.

_Jul_. I thank you both; and if I have occasion, will borrow their

assistance; but I must leave you for a minute, I’ll wait on you anon.--

[_They all three walk as down the street, talking_.

_Enter_ Laura, _with_ Silvio _and her_ Equipage.

_Lau_. Beyond my wish, I’m got into his Friendship:

But Oh, how distant Friendship is from Love,

That’s all bestow’d on the fair Prostitute!

--Ah, _Silvio_, when he took me in his Arms,

Pressing my willing Bosom to his Breast,

Kissing my Cheek, calling me lovely Youth,

And wond’ring how such Beauty, and such Bravery,

Met in a Man so young! Ah, then, my Boy,

Then in that happy minute,

How near was I to telling all my Soul!

My Blushes and my Sighs were all prepar’d;

My Eyes cast down, my trembling Lips just parting.--

But still as I was ready to begin,

He cries out _Silvianetta_!

And to prevent mine, tells me all his Love.

--But see--he’s here.--

[Fill. _and_ Gal. _coming up the Scene_.

_Gal_. Come, lay by all sullen Unresolves: for now the hour of the

Berjere approaches, Night that was made for Lovers.--Hah! my Dear

_Sans-Coeur_? my Life! my Soul! my Joy! Thou art of my opinion!

_Lau_. I’m sure I am, whate’er it be.

_Gal_. Why, my Friend here, and I, have sent and paid our Fine for a

small Tenement of Pleasure, and I’m for taking present possession;--but

hold--if you shou’d be a Rival after all.--

_Lau_. Not in your _Silvianetta_! my Love has a nice Appetite,

And must be fed with high uncommon Delicates.

I have a Mistress, Sir, of Quality;

Fair, as Imagination paints young Angels;

Wanton and gay, as was the first _Corinna_,

That charm’d our best of Poets;

Young as the Spring, and chearful as the Birds

That welcome in the Day;

Witty, as Fancy makes the Revelling Gods,

And equally as bounteous when she blesses.

_Gal_. Ah, for a fine young Whore with all these Charms!

but that same Quality allays the Joy: there’s such a

damn’d ado with the Obligation, that half the Pleasure’s

lost in Ceremony.

--Here for a thousand Crowns I reign alone,

Revel all day in Love without controul.

--But come to our business, I have given order for Musick,

Dark Lanthorns, and Pistols.

[_This while_ Fil., _stands studying_.

_Fil_. Death, if it shou’d not be _Marcella_ now! [_Pausing aside_.

_Gal_. Prithee no more considering,--resolve, and let’s about it.

_Fil_. I wou’d not tempt my Heart again! for Love,

What e’er it may be in another’s Breast,

In mine ‘twill turn to a religious Fire;

And so to burn for her, a common Mistress,

Wou’d be an Infamy below her Practice.

_Gal_. Oh, if that be all, doubt not, _Harry_, but an Hour’s Conversation

with _Euphemia_ will convert it to as leud a flame, as a Man wou’d wish.

_Lau_. What a coil’s here about a Curtezan! what ado to persuade a Man to

a Blessing all _Rome_ is languishing for in vain!--Come, Sir, we must

deal with him, as Physicians do with peevish Children, force him to take

what will cure him.

_Fil_. And like those damn’d Physicians, kill me for want of method: no,

I know my own Distemper best, and your Applications will make me mad.

_Gal_. Pox on’t, that one cannot love a Woman like a Man, but one must

love like an Ass.

_Lau_. S’heart, I’ll be bound to lie with all the Women in _Rome_, with

less ado than you are brought to one.

_Gal_. Hear ye that, _Henry_? s’death, art not asham’d to be instructed

by one so young!--But see--the Star there appears,--the Star that

conducts thee to the Shore of Bliss,--She comes! let’s feel thy

[Marcella _and_ Cornelia _above_ with_ Philippa.] Heart, she comes!

So breaks the Day on the glad Eastern Hills,

Or the bright God of Rays from _Thetis’. Lap:

A Rapture, now, dear Lad, and then fall to;

for thou art old Dog at a long Grace.

_Fil_. Now I’m mere Man again, with all his Frailties-- [_Aside_.

--Bright lovely Creature!--

_Gal_. Damn it, how like my Lady’s eldest Son was that?

_Fil_. May I hope my Sacrifice may be accepted by you; by Heaven,

it must be she! still she appears more like.--

[_Aside_.

_Mar_. I’ve only time to tell you Night approaches,

And then I will expect you.

_Enter_ Crapine, _gazes on the Ladies_.

_Crap_. ‘Tis she, _Donna Marcella_, on my life, with the young wild

_Cornelia_!--hah--yonder’s the _English_ Cavalier too; nay then, by this

Hand I’ll be paid for all my fruitless jaunts, for this good news--stay,

let me mark the House.--

_Mar_. Now to my Disguise.

[_Ex_. Marcella.

_Gal_. And have you no kind message to send to my Heart? cannot this good

Example instruct you how to make me happy?

_Cor_. Faith, Stranger, I must consider first; she’s skilful in the

Merchandize of Hearts, and has dealt in Love with so good success

hitherto, she may lose one Venture, and never miss it in her Stock: but

this is my first, and shou’d it prove to be a bad bargain, I were undone

for ever.

_Gal_. I dare secure the Goods sound--

_Cor_. And I believe will not lie long upon my hands.

_Gal_. Faith, that’s according as you’ll dispose on’t, Madam--for let me

tell you--gad, a good handsome proper Fellow is as staple a Commodity as

any’s in the Nation;--but I wou’d be reserv’d for your own use. Faith,

take a Sample to night, and as you like it, the whole Piece; and that’s

fair and honest dealing I think, or the Devil’s in’t.

_Cor_. Ah, Stranger,--you have been so over-liberal for those same

Samples of yours, that I doubt they have spoiled the sale of the rest;

Cou’d you not afford, think ye, to throw in a little Love and Constancy,

to inch out that want of Honesty of yours?

_Gal_. Love! oh, in abundance!

By those dear Eyes, by that soft smiling Mouth,

By every secret Grace thou hast about thee,

I love thee with a vigorous, eager Passion;

--Be kind, dear _Silvianetta_--prithee do,

Say you believe, and make me blest to Night.

_Crap. Silvianetta!_ so, that’s the Name she has rifl’d for _Cornelia_, I

perceive. [_Aside_.

_Cor_. If I shou’d be so kind-hearted, what good use wou’d you make of so

obliging an Opportunity?

_Gal_. That which the happy Night was first ordain’d for.

_Cor_. Well, Signior, ‘tis coming on, and then I’ll try what Courage the

Darkness will inspire me with:--till then--farewell.--

_Gal_. Till then a thousand times adieu.--

[_Blowing up kisses to her_.

_Phil_. Ah, Madam, we’re undone,--yonder’s _Crapine_, your Uncle’s Valet.

_Cor_. Now a Curse on him; shall we not have one night with our

Cavaliers?--let’s retire, and continue to out-wit him, or never more

pretend to’t. Adieu, Signior Cavalier--remember Night.--

_Gal_. Or may I lose my Sense to all Eternity.

[_Kisses his fingers and bows, she returns it for a while.

Exit_. Crap.

_Lau_. Gods, that all this that looks at least like Love,

Shou’d be dispens’d to one insensible!

Whilst every syllable of that dear Value,

Whisper’d to me, wou’d make my Soul all Extasy. [_Aside_.

--Oh, spare that Treasure for a grateful Purchase;

And buy that common Ware with trading Gold,

Love is too rich a Price!--I shall betray my self.--[_Aside_.

_Gal_. Away, that’s an heretical Opinion, and which

This certain Reason must convince thee of;

That Love is Love, wherever Beauty is,

Nor can the Name of Whore make Beauty less.

_Enter_ Marcella _like a Man, with a Cloke about her_.

_Mar_. Signior, is your Name _Fillamour?_

_Fil_. It is, what wou’d you, Sir?--

Mar_. I have a Letter for you--from _Viterbo_, and your _Marcella_, Sir.

[_Gives it him_.

_Fil_. Hah--_Viterbo_! and _Marcella_!

It shocks me like the Ghost of some forsaken Mistress,

That met me in the way to Happiness,

With some new long’d-for Beauty!

[_Opens it, reads_.

_Mar_. Now I shall try thy Virtue, and my Fate.-- [_Aside_.

_Fil_. What is’t that checks the Joy, that shou’d surprize me at the

receipt of this.

_Gal_. How now! what’s the cold fit coming on? [_Pauses_.

_Fil_. I have no power to go--where this--invites me--

By which I prove ‘tis no encrease of Flame that warms my Heart,

But a new Fire just kindled from those Eyes--

Whose Rays I find more piercing than _Marcella’s_.

_Gal_.--Ay, Gad, a thousand times--prithee, what’s the matter?

_Mar_. Oh, this false-souled Man--wou’d I had leisure

To be reveng’d for this Inconstancy! [_Aside_.

_Fil_.--But still she wants that Virtue I admire.

_Gal_. Virtue! ‘S’death thou art always fumbling upon that dull string

that makes no Musick.--What Letter’s that? [_Reads_.] If the first

Confession I ever made of Love be grateful to you, come arm’d to night

with a Friend or two; and behind the Garden of the Fountains, you will

receive--hah, _Marcella!_--Oh, damn it, from your honest Woman!--Well, I

see the Devil’s never so busy with a Man, as when he has resolv’d upon

any Goodness! S’death, what a rub’s here in a fair cast,--how is’t man?

Alegremente! bear up, defy him and all his Works.

_Fil_. But I have sworn, sworn that I lov’d _Marcella;_

And Honour, Friend, obliges me to go,

Take her away and marry her.

--And I conjure thee to assist me too.

_Gal_. What, to night, this might, that I have given to _Silvianetta!_

and you have promis’d to the fair--_Euphemia!_

_Lau_. If he shou’d go, he ruins my design, [_Aside_.

--Nay, if your word, Sir--be already past--

_Fil_. ‘Tis true, I gave my promise to _Euphemia;_ but that, to Women of

her Trade, is easily absolv’d.

_Gal_. Men keep not Oaths for the sakes of the wise Magistrates to whom

they are made, but their own Honour, _Harry_.--And is’t not much a

greater crime to rob a gallant, hospitable Man of his Niece, who has

treated you with Confidence and Friendship, than to keep touch with a

well-meaning Whore, my conscientious Friend?

_Lau_. Infinite degrees, Sir.

_Gal_. Besides, thou’st an hour or two good, between this and the time

requir’d to meet _Marcella_.

_Lau_. Which an industrious Lover would manage to the best advantage.

_Gal_. That were not given over to Virtue and Constancy; two the best

excuses I know for Idleness.

_Fil_.--Yes--I may see this Woman.

_Gal_. Why, Gad-a-mercy, Lad.

_Fil_.--And break my Chains, if possible.

_Gal_. Thou wilt give a good essay to that I’ll warrant thee,

Before she part with thee; come let’s about it.

[_They are going out on either side of_ Fil. _persuading him_.

_Mar_. He’s gone, the Curtezan has got the day, [_Aside_.

Vice has the start of Virtue every way;

And for one Blessing honest Wives obtain,

The happier Mistress does a thousand gain.

I’ll home--and practise all their Art to prove,

That nothing is so cheaply gain’d as Love.

[_Exit_.

_Gal_. Stay, what Farce is this--prithee let’s see a little.

[_Offering to go_.

[_Enter Sir_ Signal, _Mr_. Tickletext, _with his Cloke ty’d

about him, a great Inkhorn ty’d at his Girdle and a

great folio under his Arm_, Petro _drest like an Antiquary_.

--How now, Mr. _Tickletext_, what, drest as if you were

going a Pilgrimage to _Jerusalem?_

_Tick_. I make no such profane Journeys, Sir.

_Gal_. But where have you been, Mr. _Tickletext?_

Sir _Sig_. Why, Sir, this most Reverend and Renowned Antiquary has been

showing us Monumental Rarities and Antiquities.

_Gal_. ‘Tis _Petro_, that Rogue.

_Fil_. But what Folio have you gotten there, Sir, _Knox_, or

_Cartwright?_

_Pet_. Nay, if he be got into that heap of Nonsense, I’ll steal off and

undress. [_Aside_.]

[_Ex_. Petro.

[Tick, _opening the Book_.

_Tick_. A small Volume, Sir, into which I transcribe the most memorable

and remarkable Transactions of the Day.

_Lau_. That doubtless must be worth seeing.

_Fil_. [_Reads_.]--April the twentieth, arose a very great Storm of Wind,

Thunder, Lightning and Rain,--which was a shrewd sign of foul Weather.

The 22th 9 of our 12 Chickens getting loose, flew overboard, the other

three miraculously escaping, by being eaten by me that Morning for

Breakfast.

Sir _Sig_. Harkye, _Galliard_--thou art my Friend, and ‘tis not like a

Man of Honour to conceal any thing from one’s Friend,--know then I am

The most fortunate Rascal that ever broke bread,--I am this night to

visit, Sirrah,--the finest, the most delicious young Harlot, Mum--under

the Rose--in all _Rome_, of _Barberacho’s_ acquaintance.

_Gal_.--Hah--my Woman, on my Life! and will she be kind?

Sir _Sig_. Kind! hang Kindness, Man, I’m resolv’d upon Conquest by Parly

or by Force.

_Gal_. Spoke like a Roman of the first Race, when noble Rapes, not

whining Courtship, did the Lover’s business.

Sir _Sig_. ‘Sha, Rapes, Man! I mean by force of Money, pure dint of Gold,

faith and troth: for I have given 500 Crowns entrance already, _& Par

Dins Bacchus, ‘tis tropo Caro--tropo Caro_, Mr. _Galliard_.

_Gal_. And what’s this high-priz’d Lady’s Name, Sir?

Sir _Sig_. _La Silvianetta_,--and lodges on the _Corso_, not far from St.

James’s of the Incurables--very well situated in case of disaster--hah.

_Gal_. Very well,--and did not your wise Worship know this _Silvianetta_

was my Mistress?

Sir _Sig_. How! his Mistress! what a damn’d Noddy was I to name her!

[_Aside_.

_Gal_. D’ye hear, fool! renounce me this Woman instantly, or I’ll first

discover it to your Governour, and then cut your throat, Sir.

Sir _Sig_. Oh, _Doux Ment_--dear _Galliard_--Renounce her,--_Corpo de

mi_, that I will soul and body, if she belong to thee, Man.--

_Gal_. No more; look to’t--look you forget her Name--or but to think of

her--farewel--

[_Nods at him_.

Sir _Sig_. Farewell, quoth ye--’tis well I had the Art of dissembling

after all, here had been a sweet broil upon the Coast else.--

_Fil_. Very well, I’ll trouble my self to read no more, since I know

you’l be so kind to the world to make it publick.

_Tick_. At my return, Sir, for the good of the Nation, I will print it,

and I think it will deserve it.

_Lau_. This is a precious Rogue, to make a Tutor of.

_Fil_. Yet these Mooncalfs dare pretend to the breeding of our Youth; and

the time will come, I fear, when none shall be reputed to travel like a

Man of Quality, who has not the advantage of being impos’d upon by one of

these pedantick Novices, who instructs the young Heir in what himself is

most profoundly ignorant of.

_Gal_. Come, ‘tis dark, and time for our Design,--your Servant, Signiors.

[_Exeunt_ Fil. _and_ Gal.

_Lau_. I’ll home, and watch the kind deceiving Minute, that may conduct

him by mistake to me.

[_Exit_.

_Enter_ Petro, _like_ Barberacho, _just as_ Tick.

_and Sir_ Signal _are going out_.

Sir _Sig_. Oh, _Barberacho_, we are undone! Oh, the Diavillo take that

Master you sent me?

_Pet_. Master, what Master?

Sir _Sig_. Why, Signior Morigoroso!

_Pet_. Mor--oso--what shou’d he be?

Sir _Sig_. A Civility-Master he should have been, to have taught us good

Manners;--but the Cornuto cheated us most damnably, and by a willing

mistake taught us nothing in the world but Wit.

_Pet_. Oh, abominable Knavery! why, what a kind of Man was he?

Sir _Sig_.--Why--much such another as your self.

_Tick_. Higher, Signior, higher.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, somewhat higher--but just of his pitch.

_Pet_. Well, Sir, and what of this Man?

Sir _Sig_. Only pickt our Pockets, that’s all.

_Tick_. Yes, and cozen’d us of our Rings.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, and gave us Cackamarda Orangata for Snuff.

_Tick_. And his Blessing to boot when he had done.

Sir _Sig_. A vengeance on’t, I feel it still.

_Pet_. Why, this ‘tis to do things of your own head; for I sent no such

Signior Moroso--but I’ll see what I can do to retrieve ‘em--I am now a

little in haste, farewell.--

[_Offers to go_, Tick. _goes out by him and jogs him_.

_Tick_. Remember to meet me--farewel, _Barberacho_.

[_Goes out, Sir_ Sig. _pulls him_.

Sir _Sig. Barberacho_--is the Lady ready?

_Pet_. Is your Money ready?

Sir _Sig_. Why, now, though I am threatned, and kill’d, and beaten, and

kick’d about this Intrigue, I must advance. [_Aside_.]--But dost think

there’s no danger?

_Pet_. What, in a delicate young amorous Lady, Signior?

Sir _Sig_. No, no, mum, I don’t much fear the Lady; but this same mad

fellow _Galliard_, I hear, has a kind of a hankering after her--

Now dare not I tell him what a discovery I have made. [_Aside_.

_Pet_. Let me alone to secure you, meet me in the _Piazzo d’.ispagnia_,

as soon as you can get yourself in order; where the two Fools shall meet,

and prevent either’s coming. [_Aside_.

Sir _Sig_. Enough,--here’s a Bill for 500 Crowns more upon my Merchant,

you know him by a good token, I lost the last Sum you receiv’d for me, a

pox of that Handsel; away, here’s company.

[_Ex_. Pet. _Enter_ Octavio _and_ Crapine.]

Now will I disguise my self, according to the mode of the Roman

Inamoratos; and deliver my self upon the place appointed.

[_Ex. Sir_ Sig.

_Oct_. On the _Corso_ didst thou see ‘em?

_Crap_. On the _Corso_, my Lord, in discourse with three Cavaliers, one

of which has given me many a Pistole, to let him into the Garden a-nights

at _Viterbo_, to talk with _Donna Marcella_ from her Chamber-Window, I

think I shou’d remember him.

_Oct_. Oh, that Thought fires me with Anger fit for my Revenge,

[_Aside_.

And they are to serenade ‘em, thou say’st?

_Crap_. I did, my Lord: and if you can have patience till they come, you

will find your Rival in this very place, if he keep his word.

_Oct_. I do believe thee, and have prepared my Bravoes to attack him: if

I can act but my Revenge to night, how shall I worship Fortune? Keep out

of sight, and when I give the word, be ready all. I hear some coming,

let’s walk off a little.--

_Enter_ Marcella _in Man’s Clothes, and_ Philippa _as a Woman

with a Lanthorn_. Oct. _and_ Crap. _go off the other way_.

_Mar_. Thou canst never convince me, but if _Crapine_ saw us, and gaz’d

so long upon us, he must know us too; and then what hinders but by a

diligent watch about the House, they will surprize us, e’er we have

secured our selves from ‘em?

_Phil_. And how will this exposing your self to danger prevent ‘em?

_Mar_. My design now is, to prevent _Fillamour’s_ coming into danger, by

hindring his approach to this House: I wou’d preserve the kind Ingrate

with any hazard of my own; and ‘tis better to die than fall into the

hands of _Octavio_. I’m desperate with that thought, and fear no danger:

however, be you ready at the door, and when I ring admit me--ha--who

comes here?

_Enter_ Tickletext _with a Periwig and Crevat of Sir_ Signal’s:

_A Sword by his side, and a dark Lanthorn; she opens

hers, looks on him, and goes out_.

_Tick_. A Man! now am I, though an old Sinner, as timorous as a young

Thief: ‘tis a great inconvenience in these Popish Countrys, that a man

cannot have liberty to steal to a Wench without danger; not that I need

fear who sees me except _Galliard_, who suspecting my business, will go

near to think I am wickedly inclin’d. Sir _Signal_ I have left hard at

his Study, and Sir _Henry_ is no nocturnal Inamorato, unless like me he

dissemble it.--Well, _certo_, ‘tis a wonderful pleasure to deceive the

World: And as a learned Man well observ’d, that the Sin of Wenching lay

in the Habit only; I having laid that aside, _Timothy Tickletext_,

principal Holder-forth of the _Covent-Garden_ Conventicle, Chaplain of

_Buffoon-Hall_ in the County of _Kent_, is free to recreate himself.

_Enter_ Gal. _with a dark Lanthorn_.

_Gal_. Where the Devil is this _Fillamour?_ and the Mufick? which way

cou’d he go to lose me thus?

[_Looks towards the Door_.

--He is not yet come--

_Tick_. Not yet come--that must be _Barberacho!_--

Where are ye, honest _Barberacho_, where are ye?

[_Groping towards_ Gal.

_Gal_. Hah! _Barberacho?_ that Name I am sure is us’d by none but Sir

_Signal_ and his Coxcomb Tutor; it must be one of those--Where are ye,

Signior, where are ye?

[_Goes towards him, and opens the Lanthorn--and shuts it strait_.

--Oh, ‘tis the Knight,--are you there, Signior?

_Tick_. Oh, art thou come, honest Rascal--conduct me quickly, conduct me

to the beautiful and fair _Silvianetta_.

[_Gives him his Hand_.

_Gal_. Yes, when your Dogship’s damn’d. _Silvianetta!_ Sdeath, is she a

Whore for Fools? [_Draws_.

_Tick_. Hah, Mr. _Galliard_, as the Devil would have it;--I’m undone if

he sees me.

[_He retires hastily_, Gal. _gropes for him_.

_Gal_. Where are you, Fop? Buffoon! Knight!

[Tickletext _retiring hastily runs against_ Octavio, _who

is just entering, almost beats him down_; Oct. _strikes

him a good blow, beats him back and draws_: Tick, _gets

close up in a corner of the Stage_; Oct. _gropes for him,

as_ Gal. _does, and both meet and fight with each other_.

--What, dare you draw,--you have the impudence to be valiant then in the

dark, [_they pass_.] I wou’d not kill the Rogue,--’Sdeath, you can fight

then, when there’s a Woman in the case!

_Oct_. I hope ‘tis _Fillarnour_; [_Aside_.] You’ll find I can, and

possibly may spoil your making Love to night.

_Gal_. Egad, Sweet-heart, and that may be, one civil Thrust will do’t;--

and ‘twere a damn’d rude thing to disappoint so fine a Woman,--therefore

I’ll withdraw whilst I’m well.

[_He slips out_.

_Enter Sir_ Signal, _with a Masquerading Coat over his

Clothes, without a Wig or Crevat, with a dark Lanthorn_.

Sir _Sig_. Well, I have most neatly escap’d my Tutor; and in this

disguise defy the Devil to claim his own.--Ah, _Caspeto de Deavilo_;--

What’s that?

[_Advancing softly, and groping with his hands, meets the

point of_ Oct. _Sword, as he is groping for_ Gal.

_Oct_. Traitor, darest thou not stand my Sword?

Sir _Sig_. Hah! Swords! no, Signior--_scusa mea_, Signioir,--

[_Hops to the door: And feeling for his way with his

out-stretcht Arms, runs his Lanthorn in_ Julio’s

_face, who is just entring; finds he’s oppos’d with

a good push backward, and slips aside into a corner

over-against_ Tickletext; Julio _meets_ Octavio, _and

fights him_; Oct. _falls_, Julio _opens his Lanthorn,

and sees his mistake_.

_Jut_. Is it you, Sir?

_Oct_. _Julio_! From what Mistake grew all this Violence?

_Jul_. That I shou’d ask of you, who meet you arm’d against me.

_Oct_. I find the Night has equally deceiv’d us; and you are fitly come

to share with me the hopes of dear Revenge.

[_Gropes for his Lanthorn, which is dropt_.

_Jul_. I’d rather have pursu’d my kinder Passion,

Love, and Desire, that brought me forth to night.

_Oct_. I’ve learnt where my false Rival is to be this Evening;

And if you’ll join your Sword, you’ll find it well employ’d.

_Jul_. Lead on, I’m as impatient of Revenge as you.--

_Oct_. Come this way then, you’ll find more Aids to serve us.

[_Go out_.

_Tick_.--So! Thanks be prais’d, all’s still again, this Fright were

enough to mortify any Lover of less magnanimity than my self.--Well, of

all Sins, this itch of Whoring is the most hardy,--the most impudent in

Repulses, the most vigilant in watching, most patient in waiting, most

frequent in Dangers; in all Disasters but Disappointment, a Philosopher;

yet if _Barberacho_ come not quickly, my Philosophy will be put to’t,

_certo_.

[_This while Sir_ Signal _is venturing from his Post,

listening, and slowly advancing towards the middle

of the Stage_.

Sir _Sig_. The Coast is once more clear, and I may venture my Carcase

forth again,--though such a Salutation as the last, wou’d make me very

unfit for the matter in hand.--The Battoon I cou’d bear with the

Fortitude and Courage of a Hero: But these dangerous Sharps I never

lov’d. What different Rencounters have I met withal to night, _Corpo de

me_? A Man may more safely pass the Gulf of _Lyons_, than convoy himself

into a Baudy-House in _Rome_; but I hope all’s past, and I will say with

_Alexander,--Vivat Esperance en despetto del Fatto_.

[_Advances a little_.

_Tick_. Sure I heard a noise;--No, ‘twas only my surmise.

[_They both advance softly, meeting just in the middle of

the Stage, and coming close up to each other; both

cautiously start back, and stand a tipto in the posture

of Fear, then gently feeling for each other, (after

listening and hearing no Noise) draw back their

Hands at touching each other’s; and shrinking up

their Shoulders, make grimaces of more Fear_.

_Tick_. _Que Equesto_.

Sir _Sig_. Hah, a Man’s Voice!--I’ll try if I can fright him hence.

[_Aside_.

_Una Malladette Spiritto Incarnate_.

[_In a horrible tone_.

_Tick_. Hah, _Spiritto Incarnate_! that Devil’s Voice I shou’d know.

[_Aside_.

Sir _Sig_. See, Signior! _Una Spiritto_, which is to say, _un Spiritalo,

Immortallo, Incorporallo, Inanimate, Immaterialle, Philosophicale,

Invisible--Unintelligible--Diavillo_.

[_In the same tone_.

_Tick_. Ay, ay, ‘tis my hopeful Pupil, upon the same design with me, my

life on’t,--cunning young Whore-master;--I’ll cool your Courage--good

Signior _Diavillo_; if you be the _Diavillo_, I have _una certaina

Immaterial Invisible Conjuratione_, that will so neatly lay your

_Inanimate unintelligible Diavilloship_.--

[_Pulls out his wooden Sword_.

Sir _Sig_. How! he must needs be valiant indeed that dares fight with the

Devil.

[_Endeavours to get away_, Tick, _beats him about the Stage_.]

--Ah, Signior, Signior, _Mia_! ah--_Caspeto de Baccus--he cornuto_, I am

a damn’d silly Devil that have no dexterity in vanishing.

[_Gropes and finds the Door--going out, meets just entring_

Fillamour, Galliard _with all the Musick--he retires,

and stands close_.

--Hah,--what have we here, new Mischief?--

[Tick. _and he stands against each other, on either side

of the Stage_.

_Fil_. Prithee how came we to lose ye?

_Gal_. I thought I had follow’d ye--but ‘tis well we are met again. Come

tune your Pipes.--

[_They play a little, enter_ Marcella _as before_.

_Mar_. This must be he.

[_Goes up to ‘em_.

_Gal_. Come, come, your Song, Boy, your Song.

_Whilst ‘tis singing, Enter_ Octavio, Julio, Crapine, _and Bravos_.

The SONG.

_Crudo Amore, Crudo Amore, |

Il mio Core non fa per te | bis

Suffrir non vo tormenti

Senza mai sperar mar ce

Belta che sia Tiranna,

Belta che sia Tiranna

Doll meo offerto recetto non e

Il tuo rigor singunna

Se le pene

Le catene

Tenta auolgere al mio pie

See see Crudel Amore |

Il mio Core non fa per te. | bis

Lusinghiero, Lusinghiero, |

Pui non Credo alta tua fe | bis

L’ incendio del tuo foce

Nel mio Core pui vivo none

Belta che li die Luoce

Belta che li die Luoce

Ma il rigor L’Ardore s’bande

Io non sato tuo gioce

Ch’ il Veleno

Del mio seno

Vergoroso faggito se n’e.

See see Crudel Amore |

Il mio Core non fa per te_. | bis

_Oct_. ‘Tis they we look for, draw and be ready.--

_Tick_. Hah, draw--then there’s no safety here, _certo_. [_Aside_.

[Octavio, Julio _and their Party draw, and fight with_ Fil.

_and_ Gal. Marcella _ingages on their side; all fight, the

Musick confusedly amongst ‘em:_ Gal. _loses his Sword, and

in the hurry gets a Base Viol, and happens to strike_

Tickletext, _who is getting away--his Head breaks its way

quite through, and it hangs about his neck; they fight out_.

Enter_ Petro _with a Lanthorn. Sir_ Signal _stands close still_.

_Tick_. Oh, undone, undone! where am I, where am I?

_Pet_. Hah--that’s the voice of my amorous _Ananias_,--or I am mistaken--

what the Devil’s the matter?

[_Opens his Lanthorn_.

--Where are ye, Sir?--hah, cuts so--what new-found Pillory have we here?

_Tick_. Oh, honest _Barberacho_, undo me, undo me quickly.

_Pet_. So I design, Sir, as fast as I can--or lose my aim--there, Sir,

there: All’s well--I have set you free, come follow me the back way into

the house.

[_Ex_. Pet. _and_ Tickletext.

_Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Marcella, _with their Swords drawn_,

Gal. _after ‘em_.

_Gal_. A plague upon ‘em, what a quarter’s here for a Wench, as if there

were no more i’th’ Nation?--wou’d I’d my Sword again.

[_Gropes for it_.

_Mar_. Which way shall I direct him to be safer?--how is it, Sir? I hope

you are not hurt.

_Fil_. Not that I feel, what art thou ask’st so kindly?

_Mar_. A Servant to the Roman Curtezan, who sent me forth to wait your

coming, Sir; but finding you in danger, shar’d it with you.--Come, let me

lead you into safety, Sir--

_Fil_. Thou’st been too kind to give me cause to doubt thee.

_Mar_. Follow me, Sir, this Key will give us entrance through the Garden.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Octavio _with his Sword in his hand_.

_Oct_. Oh! what damn’d luck had I so poorly to be vanquisht! When all is

hush’d, I know he will return,--therefore I’ll fix me here, till I become

a furious Statue--but I’ll reach his heart.

Sir _Sig_. Oh _lamentivolo fato_--what bloody Villains these Popish

_Italians_ are!

_Enter_ Julio.

_Oct_. Hah--I hear one coming this way--hah--the door opens too, and he

makes toward it--pray Heaven he be the right, for this I’m sure’s the

House.--Now, Luck, an’t be thy will--

[_Follows_ Julio _towards the door softly_.

_Jul_. The Rogues are fled, but how secure I know not;--

And I’ll pursue my first design of Love,

And if this _Silvianetta_ will be kind--

_Enter_ Laura _from the House in a Night-gown_.

_Lau_. Whist--who is’t names _Silvianetta_?

_Jul_. A Lover, and her Slave--

[_She takes him by the hand_.

_Lau_. Oh, is it you,--are you escap’d unhurt?

Come to my Bosom--and be safe for ever--

_Jul_. ‘Tis Love that calls, and now Revenge must stay,

--This hour is thine, fond Boy; the next that is my own

I’ll give to Anger.--

_Oct_. Oh, ye pernicious Pair,--I’ll quickly change the Scene of Love

into a rougher and more unexpected Entertainment.

[_She leads_ Julio _in_.--Oct. _follows close, they shut the door

upon ‘em. Sir_ Sig. _thrusts out his head to hearken,

hears no body, and advances.

Sir _Sig_. Sure the Devil reigns to night; wou’d I were shelter’d, and

let him rain Fire and Brimstone: for pass the streets I dare not--this

shou’d be the House--or hereabouts I’m sure ‘tis.--Hah--what’s this--a

String--of a Bell I hope--I’ll try to enter; and if I am mistaken, ‘tis

but crying Con licentia.

[_Rings, enter_ Philippa. _Phil_. Who’s there?

Sir _Sig_. ‘Tis I, ‘tis I, let me in quickly.--

_Phil_. Who--the _English_ Cavalier?

Sir _Sig_. The same--I am right--I see I was expected.

_Phil_. I’m glad you’re come--give me your hand.--

Sir _Sig_. I am fortunate at last,--and therefore will say with the

famous Poet.

_No Happiness like that atchicv’d with Danger,

--Which once overcome--I lie at Rack and Manger_.

[_Exeunt_.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

_Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Galliard, _as in_ Silvianetta’s _Apartment_.

_Fil_. How splendidly these common Women live!

How rich is all we meet with in this Palace;

And rather seems the Apartment of some Prince,

Than a Receptacle for Lust and Shame.

_Gal_. You see, _Harry_, all the keeping Fools are not in our Dominions;

but this grave, this wise People, are Mistress-ridden too.

_Fil_. I fear we have mistook the House, and the Youth that brought us in

may have deceived us, on some other design; however whilst I’ve this--I

cannot fear--[_Draws_.

_Gal_. A good caution, and I’ll stand upon my guard with this; but see--

here’s one will put us out of doubt.

[_Pulls a Pistol out of his pocket_.

_Fil_. Hah! the fair Inchantress.

[_Enter_ Mar. _richly and loosely drest_.

_Mar_. What, on your guard, my lovely Cavalier? Lies there a danger

In this Face and Eyes, that needs that rough resistance?

--Hide, hide that mark of Anger from my sight,

And if thou wou’dst be absolute Conquerer here,

Put on soft Looks, with Eyes all languishing,

Words tender, gentle Sighs, and kind Desires.

_Gal_. Death, with what unconcern he hears all this!

Art thou possest?--Pox, why dost not answer her?

_Mar_. I hope he will not yield--[_Aside_.

--He stands unmov’d--

Surely I was mistaken in this Face,

And I believe in Charms that have no power.

_Gal_. ‘Sdeath, thou deservest not such a noble Creature,--

I’ll have ‘em both my self.--[_Aside_.

_Fil_.--Yes, thou hast wondrous power,

And I have felt it long. [_Pausingly_.

_Mar_. How!

_Fil_.--I’ve often seen that Face--but ‘twas in Dreams:

And sleeping lov’d extremely!

And waking;--sigh’d to find it but a Dream:

The lovely Phantom vanish’d with my Slumbers,

But left a strong Idea on my heart

Of what I find in perfect Beauty here,

--But with this difference, she was virtuous too.

_Mar_. What silly she was that?

_Fil_. She whom I dream’d I lov’d.

_Mar_. You only dreamt that she was virtuous too;

Virtue it self’s a Dream of so slight force,

The very fluttering of Love’s Wings destroys it;

Ambition, or the meaner hope of Interest, wakes it to nothing;

In Men a feeble Beauty shakes the dull slumber off.--

_Gal_. Egad, she argues like an Angel, _Harry_.

_Fil_.--What haste thou’st made to damn thy self so young!

Hast thou been long thus wicked? hast thou sinn’d past Repentance?

Heaven may do much to save so fair a Criminal;

Turn yet, and be forgiven.

_Gal_. What a Pox dost thou mean by all this Canting?

_Mar_. A very pretty Sermon, and from a Priest so gay,

It cannot chuse but edify.

Do Holy men of your Religion, Signior, wear all this Habit?

Are they thus young and lovely? Sure if they are,

Your Congregation’s all compos’d of Ladies;

The Laity must come abroad for Mistresses.

_Fil_. Oh, that this charming Woman were but honest!

_Gal_. ‘Twere better thou wert damn’d; honest!

Pox, thou dost come out with things so mal a propo--

_Mar_. Come leave this Mask of foolish Modesty,

And let us haste where Love and Musick calls;

Musick, that heightens Love, and makes the Soul

Ready for soft Impressions.

_Gal_. So, she will do his business with a Vengeance.

_Fil_. Plague of this tempting Woman, she will ruin me:

I find weak Virtue melt from round my Heart,

To give her Tyrant Image a Possession:

So the warm Sun thaws Rivers icy Tops.

Till in the stream he sees his own bright Face.

_Gal_. Now he comes on apace,--how is’t, my Friend?

Thou stand’st as thou’dst forgot thy business here,

--The Woman, _Harry_, the fair Curtezan;

Canst thou withstand her Charms? I’ve business of my own,

Prithee fall to--and talk of Love to her.

_Fil_. Oh, I cou’d talk Eternity away,

In nothing else but Love;--cou’dst thou be honest?

_Mar_. Honest! was it for that you sent two thousand Crowns,

Or did believe that trifling Sum sufficient

To buy me to the slavery of Honesty?

_Gal_. Hold there, my brave Virago.

_Fil_. No, I wou’d sacrifice a nobler Fortune,

To buy thy Virtue home.

_Mar_. What shou’d it idling there?

_Fil_. Why--make thee constant to some happy Man,

That wou’d adore thee for’t.

_Mar_. Unconscionable! constant at my years?

--Oh, ‘twere to cheat a thousand,

Who between this and my dull Age of Constancy.

Expect the distribution of my Beauty.

_Gal_. ‘Tis a brave Wench-- [_Aside_.

_Fil_. Yet charming as thou art, the time will come

When all that Beauty, like declining Flowers,

Will wither on the Stalk,--but with this difference,

The next kind Spring brings Youth to Flowers again,

But faded Beauty never more can bloom.

--If Interest make thee wicked, I can supply thy Pride.--

_Mar_. Curse on your necessary Trash!--which I despise,

But as ‘tis useful to advance our Love.

_Fil_. Is Love thy business? who is there born so high,

But Love and Beauty equals?

And thou mayst chuse from all the wishing World.

This Wealth together wou’d inrich one Man,

Which dealt to all, wou’d scarce be Charity.

_Mar_. Together! ‘tis a Mass wou’d ransom Kings:

Was all this Beauty given for one poor petty Conquest?

--I might have made a hundred Hearts my slaves,

In this lost time of bringing one to Reason.--

Farewel, thou dull Philosopher in Love;

When Age has made me wise, I’ll send for you again.

[_Offers to go_, Gal. _holds her_.

_Gal_. By this good Light, a noble glorious Whore.

_Fil_. Oh, stay, I must not let such Beauty fall,

--A Whore--consider yet the Charms of Reputation,

The Ease, the Quiet, and Content of Innocence,

The awful Reverence all good Men will pay thee,

Who, as thou art, will gaze without respect,

--And cry--what pity ‘tis she is--a Whore--

_Mar_. O, you may give it what coarse name you please,

But all this Youth and Beauty ne’er was given,

Like Gold to Misers, to be kept from use.

[_Going out_.

_Fil_. Lost, lost--past all Redemption.

_Gal_. Nay, Gad, thou shalt not lose her so--I’ll fetch her back, and

thou shalt ask her pardon.

[_Runs out after her_.

_Fil_. By Heaven, it was all a Dream! an airy Dream!

The visionary Pleasure disappears,--and I’m myself again,

--I’ll fly before the drousy Fit o’ertake me.

[_Going out, Enter_ Gal. _and then_ Marcella.

_Gal_. Turn back--she yields, she yields to pardon thee.

Gone! nay, hang me if ye part.

[_Runs after him, still his Pistol in his hand_.

_Mar_. Gone! I have no leisure now for more dissembling.

[_Takes the Candle, and goes in_.

_Enter_ Petro, _leading in Mr_. Tickletext, _as by dark_.

_Pet_. Remain here, Signior, whilst I step and fetch a light.

_Tick_. Do so, do so, honest _Barberacho_.--Well, my escape even now from

Sir _Signal_ was miraculous, thanks to my Prudence and Prowess; had he

discover’d me, my Dominion had ended, and my Authority been of none

effect, _certo_.

[Philippa _at the door puts in Sir_ Signal.

_Phil_. Now, Signior, you’re out of danger, I’ll fetch a Candle, and let

my Lady know of your being here.

[_Exit_ Phil. _Sir_ Sig. _advances a little_.

_Enter_ Petro _with a light, goes between ‘em, and starts_.

_Tick_. Sir _Signal_!--

Sir _Sig_. My Governour!

_Pet_. The two Fools met! a pox of all ill luck! Now shall I lose my

Credit with both my wise Patrons; my Knight I cou’d have put off with a

small Harlot of my own, but my Levite having seen my Lady _Cornelia_,

that is, _La Silvianetta_,--none but that _Susanna_ wou’d satisfy his

Eldership. But now they both sav’d me the labour of a farther invention

to dispatch ‘em.

Sir _Sig_. I perceive my Governour’s as much confounded as my self;--I’ll

take advantage by the forelock, be very impudent, and put it upon him,

faith--Ah, Governour, will you never leave your whoring? never be staid,

sober and discreet, as I am?

_Tick_. So, so, undone, undone! just my Documents to him.--

[_Walks about, Sir_ Sig. _follows_.

Sir _Sig_. And must I neglect my precious studies, to follow you, in pure

zeal and tender care of your Person? Will you never consider where you

are? In a leud Papish Country, amongst the Romish Heathens! And for you,

a Governour, a Tutor, a Director of unbridled Youth, a Gownman, a

Politician; for you, I say, to be taken at this unrighteous time of the

Night, in a flaunting Cavaliero Dress, an unlawful Weapon by your side,

going the high way to Satan, to a Curtezan; and to a Romish Curtezan! Oh

Abomination! Oh _scandalum infinitum_!

_Tick_. Paid in my own Coin.

_Pet_. So, I’ll leave the Devil to rebuke Sin: and to my young Lady, for

a little of her assistance in the management of this Affair.

[_Exit_ Pet.

_Tick_. I do confess, I grant ye I am in the house of a Curtezan, and

that I came to visit a Curtezan, and do intend to visit each Night a

several Curtezan, till I have finished my work--

Sir _Sig_. Every night one! Oh Glutton!

_Tick_. My great work of Convertion, upon the whole Nation, Generation,

and Vocation of this wicked provoking sort of Womankind call’d Curtezans.

I will turn ‘em; I will turn ‘em, for ‘tis a shame that Man shou’d bow

down to those that worship Idols. And now I think, Sir, I have

sufficiently explain’d the business in hand,--as honest _Barberacho_ is

my witness;--And for you--to--scandalize--me--with so naughty an

Interpretation--afflicteth me wonderfully.--

[_Pulls out his handkerchief, and weeps_.

Sir _Sig_.--Alas, poor Mr. _Tickletext_, now as I hope to be sav’d, it

grieves my heart to see thee weep; faith and troth now, I thought thou

hadst some carnal Assignation:--but ne’er stir, I beg thy pardon, and

think thee as innocent as my self, that I do--but see, the Lady’s here--

s’life, dry your Eyes, man.

[_Enter Cornelia, Phil, and Pet_.

_Cor_. I cou’d beat thee for being thus mistaken, and am resolv’d to

flatter him into some Mischief, to be reveng’d on ‘em for this

disappointment; go you, and watch for my Cavalier the while.

_Tick_. Is she come? Nay, then turn me loose to her.

_Cor_. My Cavalier!

[_Addressing to Sir Sig_. Tick. _pulls him by, and speaks_.

_Tick_.--Lady--

Sir _Sig_. You, Sir! why, who the Devil made you a Cavalier? most

_Potentissima Signiora_, I am the man of Title, by name Sir _Signal

Buffoon_, sole Son and Heir to Eight Thousand Pound a year.--

_Tick_. Oh, Sir, are you the Man she looks for?

Sir _Sig_. I, Sir? no, Sir: I’d have ye know, Sir, I scorn any Woman, be

she never so fair, unless her design be honest and honourable.

_Cor_. The Man of all the World I’ve chosen out, from all the Wits and

Beauties I have seen,--to have most finely beaten. [_Aside_.

Sir _Sig_. How! In love with me already,--she’s damnable handsome too:

now wou’d my Tutor were hang’d a little for an hour or two, out of the

way. [_Aside_.

_Cor_. Why fly you not into my Arms,

[_She approaching, he shunning_.

These Arms that were design’d for soft Embraces?

Sir _Sig_. Ay, and if my Tutor were not here, the Devil take him that

wou’d hinder ‘em--and I think that’s civil, egad.

_Tick_. Why, how now, _Barberacho_, what, am I cozen’d then, and is Sir

_Signal_ the Man in favour? [_Aside to_ Petro.

_Pet_. Lord, Signior, that so wise a man as you cannot perceive her

meaning,--for the Devil take me if I can. [_Aside_.--Why this is done to

take off all suspicion from you--and lay it on him;--don’t you conceive

it, Signior?

_Tick_. Yes, honest Rogue,--Oh the witty Wag-tail,--I have a part to play

too, that shall confirm it--young Gentlewoman.--

_Cor_. Ah, Belle ingrate, is’t thus you recompense my suffering Love? to

fly this Beauty so ador’d by all, that slight the ready Conquest of the

World, to trust a Heart with you?--Ah--_Traditor Cruella_.

Sir _Sig_. Poor Heart, it goes to the very soul of me to be so coy and

scornful to her, that it does; but a pox on’t, her over-fondness will

discover all.

_Tick_. Fly, fly, young Man, whilst yet thou hast a spark of Virtue

shining in thee, fly the temptations of this young Hypocrite; the Love

that she pretends with so much zeal and ardour, is indecent,

unwarrantable and unlawful; first indecent, as she is Woman--for thou art

Woman--and beautiful Woman--yes, very beautiful Woman; on whom Nature

hath shew’d her height of Excellence in the out-work, but left thee

unfinisht, imperfect and impure.

_Cor_. Heavens, what have we here?

Sir _Sig_. A Pox of my Sir _Domine_; now is he beside his Text, and will

spoil all.

_Tick_. Secondly, Unwarrantable; by what Authority dost thou seduce with

the Allurements of thine Eyes, and the Conjurements of thy Tongue, the

Wastings of thy Hands, and the Tinklings of thy Feet, the young Men in

the Villages?

_Cor_. Sirrah, how got this Madman in? seize him, and take him hence.

Sir _Sig_. _Corpo de mi_, my Governour tickles her notably, I’faith--but

had he let the care of my Soul alone to night, and have let me taken care

of my Body, ‘twould have been more material at this time.

_Tick_. Thirdly, Unlawful--

_Cor_. Quite distracted! in pity take him hence, and lead him into

Darkness, ‘twill suit his Madness best.

_Tick_. How, distracted! take him hence.

_Pet_. This was lucky--I knew she wou’d come again--Take him hence--yes,

into her Bed-chamber--pretty device to get you to her self, Signior.

_Tick_. Why, but is it?--Nay then I will facilitate my departure--

therefore I say, Oh most beautiful and tempting Woman--

[_Beginning to preach again_.

_Cor_. Away with him, give him clean straw and darkness,

And chain him fast, for fear of further mischief.

_Pet_. She means for fear of losing ye.

_Tick_. Ah, Baggage! as fast as she will in those pretty Arms.

[_Going to lead him off_.

Sir _Sig_. Hold, hold, man; mad, said ye!--ha, ha, ha--mad! why we have a

thousand of these in _England_ that go loose about the streets, and pass

with us for as sober discreet religious persons, as a man shall wish to

talk nonsense withal.

_Pet_. You are mistaken, Signior, I say he is mad, stark mad.

Sir _Sig_. Prithee, _Barberacho_, what dost thou mean?

_Pet_. To rid him hence, that she may be alone with you--’slife, Sir,

you’re madder than he--don’t you conceive?--

Sir _Sig_. Ay, ay; nay, I confess, Illustrissima Signiora, my Governour

has a Fit that takes him now and then, a kind of frensy,--a figary--a

whimsy--a maggot, that bites always at naming of Popery: [_Exit_. Pet.

_with_ Tick.]--so--he’s gone.--Bellissima Signiora,--you have most

artificially remov’d him--and this extraordinary proof of your affection

is a sign of some small kindness towards me; and though I was something

coy and reserv’d before my Governour, Excellentissima Signiora, let me

tell you, your Love is not cast away.

_Cor_. Oh, Sir, you bless too fast; but will you ever love me?

Sir _Sig_. Love thee! ay and lie with thee too, most magnanimous

Signiora, and beget a whole Race of Roman _Julius Caesars_ upon thee;

nay, now we’re alone, turn me loose to Impudence, i’faith.

[_Ruffles her;

Enter_ Philippa _in haste, shutting the door after her_.

_Phil_. Oh, Madam, here’s the young mad _English_ Cavalier got into the

House, and will not be deny’d seeing you.

_Cor_. This was lucky.

Sir _Sig_. How, the mad _English_ Cavalier! if this shou’d be our young

Count _Galliard_ now--I were in a sweet taking--Oh, I know by my fears

’.is he;--Oh, prithee what kind of a manner of Man is he?

_Phil_. A handsom--resolute--brave--bold--

Sir _Sig_. Oh, enough, enough--Madam, I’ll take my leave--I see you are

something busy at present,--an I’ll--

_Cor_. Not for the World:--_Philippa_, bring in the Cavalier--that you

may see there’s none here fears him, Signior.

Sir _Sig_. Oh, hold, hold--Madam, you are mistaken in that point; for, to

tell you the truth, I do fear--having--a certain--Aversion or Antipathy--

to--Madam--a Gentleman--Why, Madam, they’re the very Monsters of the

Nation, they devour every Day a Virgin.--

_Cor_. Good Heavens! and is he such a Fury?

Sir _Sig_. Oh, and the veriest Beelzebub;--besides, Madam, he vow’d my

Death, if ever he catcht me near this House; and he ever keeps his word

in cases of this Nature--Oh, that’s he, [_Knocking at the Door_.] I know

it by a certain trembling Instinct about me!--Oh, what shall I do--

_Cor_. Why--I know not,--can you leap a high Window?

Sir _Sig_. He knocks again,--I protest I am the worst Vaulter in

Christendom.--Have you no moderate danger--between the two extremes of

the Window or the mad Count? no Closet?--Fear has dwindled me to the

scantling of a Mousehole.

_Cor_. Let me see,--I have no leisure to pursue my Revenge farther, and

will rest satisfy’d with this,--for this time. [_Aside_.]--Give me the

Candle,--and whilst _Philippa_ is conducting the Cavalier to the Alcove

by dark, you may have an Opportunity to slip out--perhaps there may be

danger in his being seen--[_Aside_.] Farewel, Fool--

[_Ex_. Cornelia _with the Candle_, Phil. _goes to the Door,

lets in_ Gal. _takes him by the hand_.

_Gal_. Pox on’t, my Knight’s bound for _Viterbo_, and there’s no

persuading him into safe Harbour again.--He has given me but two hours to

dispatch matters here,--and then I’m to imbark with him upon this new

Discovery of honourable Love, as he call it, whose Adventurers are Fools,

and the returning Cargo, that dead Commodity called a Wife! a Voyage very

suitable to my Humour.--Who’s there?--

_Phil_. A Slave of _Silvianetta_, Sir; give me your hand.

[_Ex. over the stage, Sir_ Sig. _goes out softly_.

SCENE II. _Changes to a Bed-chamber Alcove_.

Petro _leading in_ Tickletext.

_Pet_. Now, Signior, you’re safe and happy in the Bedchamber of your

Mistress--who will be here immediately, I’m sure; I’ll fetch a Light, and

put you to Bed in the mean time--

_Tick_. Not before Supper I hope, honest _Barberacho_.

_Pet_. Oh, Signior, that you shall do lying, after the manner of the

antient _Romans_.

_Tick_. _Certo_, and that was a marvellous good lazy Custom.

[_Ex_. Pet.

_Enter_ Philippa _with_ Galliard _by dark_.

_Phil_. My Lady will be with you instantly--[_Goes out_.

_Tick_. Hah, sure I heard some body come softly in at the door: I hope

’.is the young Gentlewoman.

[_He advances forward_.

_Gal_. Silence and Night, Love and dear Opportunity.

[_In a soft Tone_.

Join all your aids to make my _Silvia_ kind;

For I am fill’d with the expecting Bliss,

[Tick, _thrusts his Head out to listen_.

And much Delay or Disappointment kills me.

_Tick_. Disappointment kills me,--and me too, _certo_--’tis she--

[_Gropes about_.

_Gal_. Oh, haste, my Fair, haste to my longing Arms,

Where are you, dear and loveliest of your Sex?

_Tick_. That’s I, that’s I, _my Alma! mea Core, mea Vita!_

[_Groping and speaking low_.

_Gal_. Hah--art thou come, my Life! my Soul! my Joy!

[_Goes to embrace_ Tick, _they meet and kiss_.

’.death, what’s this, a bearded Mistress! Lights, Lights there, quickly,

Lights! nay, curse me if thou scap’st me.

[Tick. _struggles to get away, he holds him by the Crevat

and Perriwig_; _Enter_ Petro _with a Candle_.

_Gal_. _Barberacho_--confound him, ‘tis the Fool whom I found this

Evening about the House, hovering to roost him here!--Ha--what the Devil

have I caught--a _Tartar_? escap’d again! the Devil’s his Confederate.--

[Pet. _puts out the Candle, comes to_ Tick, _unties his

Crevat behind, and he slips his head out of the Perriwig,

and gets away, leaving both in_ Gal’s _hands_.

_Pet_. Give me your Hand, I’ll lead you a back-pair of stairs through the

Garden.

_Tick_. Oh, any way to save my Reputation--oh--

_Gal_. Let me but once more grasp thee, and thou shalt find more safety

in the Devil’s Clutches: none but my Mistress serve ye!

[_Gropes out after him_.

[Pet. _with_ Tick, _running over the Stage_, Gal. _after

‘em, with the Crevat and Perriwig in one Hand,

his Pistol in t’other_.

_Enter_ Philippa _with a Light_.

_Phil_. Mercy upon us! what’s the matter? what Noise is this--hah, a

Pistol! what can this mean?

[_A Pistol goes off_.

_Enter Sir_ Signal _running_.

Sir _Sig_. Oh, save me, gentle Devil, save me, the stairs are fortify’d

with Cannons and double Culverins; I’m pursu’d by a whole Regiment of

arm’d Men! here’s Gold, Gold in abundance, save me.--

_Phil_. What Cannons? what armed Men?

Sir _Sig_. Finding my self pursu’d as I was groping my way through the

Hall, and not being able to find the Door, I made towards the stairs

again, at the foot of which I was saluted with a great Gun--a pox of the

Courtesy.

_Gal_. [_Without_.] Where are ye, Knight, Buffoon, Dog of _Egypt_?

Sir _Sig_. Thunder and Lightning! ‘tis _Gallaird’s_ Voice.

_Phil_. Here, step behind this Hanging--there’s a Chimney which may

shelter ye till the Storm be over,--if you be not smother’d before.

[_Puts him behind the Arras_.

_Enter_ Gal. _as before, and_ Corn, _at the other door_.

_Cor_. Heavens! What rude noise is this?

_Gal_. Where have you hid this Fool, this lucky Fool?

He whom blind Chance, and more ill-judging Woman,

Has rais’d to that Degree of Happiness,

That witty Men must sigh and toil in vain for?

_Cor_. What Fool, what Happiness?

_Gal_. Cease, cunning false one, to excuse thy self,

See here the Trophies of your shameful Choice,

And of my Ruin, cruel--fair Deceiver!

_Cor_. Deceiver, Sir, of whom? in what despairing minute did I swear to

be a constant Mistress? to what dull whining Lover did I vow, and had the

heart to break it?

_Gal_. Or if thou hadst, I know of no such Dog as wou’d believe thee:

No, thou art false to thy own Charms, and hast betray’d them

To the possession of the vilest Wretch

That ever Fortune curst with Happiness;

False to thy Joys, false to thy Wit and Youth:

All which thou’st damn’d with so much careful Industry

To an eternal Fool,

That all the Arts of Love can ne’er redeem thee.

Sir _Sig_. Meaning me, meaning me.

[_Peeping out of the Chimney, his Face blackt_.

_Cor_. A Fool! what Indiscretion have you seen in me, shou’d make ye

think I would choose a Witty man for a Lover, who perhaps loves out his

Month in pure good Husbandry, and in that time does more Mischief than a

hundred Fools. You conquer without Resistance, you treat without Pity,

and triumph without Mercy: and when you are gone, the World crys--she had

not Wit enough to keep him, when indeed you are not Fool enough to be

kept! Thus we forfeit both our Liberties and Discretion with you

villanous witty Men: for Wisdom is but good Success in things, and those

that fail are Fools.

_Gal_. Most gloriously disputed!

You’re grown a Machivellian in your Art.

_Cor_. Oh, necessary Maxims only, and the first Politicks we learn from

Observation--I have known a Curtezan grown infamous, despis’d, decay’d,

and ruin’d, in the Possession of you witty Men, who when she had the luck

to break her Chains, and cast her Net for Fools, has liv’d in state,

finer than Brides upon their Wedding-day, and more profuse than the young

amorous Coxcomb that set her up an Idol.

Sir _Sig_. Well argued of my side, I see the Baggage loves me!

[_Peeping out with a Face more smutted_.

_Gal_. And hast thou? Oh, but prithee jilt me on,

And say thou hast not destin’d all thy Charms

To such a wicked Use.

Is that dear Face and Mouth for Slaves to kiss?

Shall those bright Eyes be gaz’d upon, and serve

But to reflect the Images of Fools?

Sir _Sig_. That’s I still. [_Peeping more black_.

_Gal_. Shall that soft tender Bosom be approacht

By one who wants a Soul, to breathe in languishment

At every Kiss that presses it?

Sir _Sig_. Soul! what a pox care I for Soul--as long as my Person is so

amiable?

_Gal_. No, renounce that dull Discretion that undoes thee,

Cunning is cheaply to be wise; leave it to those that have

No other Powers to gain a Conquest by,

It is below thy Charms.

--Come swear, and be foresworn most damnably,

Thou hast not yielded yet; say ‘twas intended only,

And though thou ly’st, by Heaven, I must believe thee;

--Say,--hast thou--given him--all?

_Cor_. I’ve done as bad, we have discours’d th’ Affair,

And ‘tis concluded on.--

Gal. As bad! by Heaven, much worse! discours’d with him!

Wert thou so wretched, so depriv’d of Sense,

To hold Discourse with such an Animal?

Damn it; the Sin is ne’er to be forgiven.

--Hadst thou been wanton to that leud degree,

By dark he might have been conducted to thee;

Where silently he might have serv’d thy purpose,

And thou hadst had some poor excuse for that:

But bartering words with Fools admits of none.

_Cor_. I grant ye,--had I talk’d sense to him, which had

been enough to have lost him for ever.

Sir _Sig_. Poor Devil, how fearful ‘tis of losing me! [_Aside_.

_Gal_. That’s some Atonement for thy other Sins,--

Come, break thy Word, and wash it quite away.

Sir _Sig_. That cogging won’t do, my good Friend, that won’t do.

_Gal_. Thou shall be just and perjur’d, and pay my Heart the debt of Love

you owe it.

_Cor_. And wou’d you have the Heart--to make a Whore of me?

_Gal_. With all my Soul, and the Devil’s in’t if I can give thee a

greater proof of my Passion.

_Cor_. I rather fear you wou’d debauch me into that dull slave call’d a

Wife.

_Gal_. A Wife! have I no Conscience, no Honour in me?

Prithee believe I wou’d not be so wicked--

No,--my Desires are generous, and noble,

To set thee up, that glorious insolent thing,

That makes Mankind such Slaves, almighty Curtezan!

--Come, to thy private Chamber let us haste,

The sacred Temple of the God of Love;

And consecrate thy Power.

[_Offers to bear her off_.

_Cor_. Stay, do you take me then for what I seem?

_Gal_. I am sure I do, and wou’d not be mistaken for a Kingdom:

But if thou art not, I can soon mend that fault,

And make thee so.--Come, I’m impatient to begin the

Experiment.

[_Offers again to carry her off_.

_Cor_. Nay, then I am in earnest,--hold, mistaken Stranger--I am of noble

Birth; and shou’d I in one hapless loving Minute destroy the Honour of my

House, ruin my Youth and Beauty, and all that virtuous Education my

hoping Parents gave me?

_Gal_. Pretty dissembled Pride and Innocence! And wounds no less than

smiles!--Come, let us in,--where I will give thee leave to frown and

jilt; such pretty Frauds advance the Appetite.

[_Offers again_.

_Cor_. By all that’s good, I am a Maid of Quality,

Blest with a Fortune equal to my Birth.

_Gal_. I do not credit thee; or if I did,

For once I wou’d dispense with Quality,

And to express my Love, take thee with all these Faults.

_Cor_. And being so, can you expect I’ll yield?

_Gal_. The sooner for that reason, if thou’rt wise;

The Quality will take away the Scandal.

Do not torment me longer--

[_Offers to lead her again_.

_Cor_. Stay and be undeceiv’d,--I do conjure ye.--

_Gal_. Art thou no Curtezan?

_Cor_. Not on my life, nor do intend to be.

_Gal_. No Prostitute? nor dost intend to be?

_Cor_. By all that’s good, I only feign’d to be so.

_Gal_. No Curtezan! hast thou deceiv’d me then?

Tell me, thou wicked honest cozening Beauty,

Why didst thou draw me in, with such a fair Pretence,

Why such a tempting Preface to invite,

And the whole Piece so useless and unedifying?

--Heavens! not a Curtezan!

Why from thy Window didst thou take my Vows,

And make such kind Returns? Oh, damn your Quality:

What honest Whore but wou’d have scorn’d thy Cunning?

_Cor_. I make ye kind Returns?

_Gal_. Persuade me out of that too; ‘twill be like ye.

_Cor_. By all my Wishes I never held Discourse with you--but this

Evening, since I first saw your Face.

_Gal_. Oh, the Impudence of Honesty and Quality in Woman!

A plague upon ‘em both, they have undone me!

Bear witness, oh thou gentle Queen of Night,

Goddess of Shades, ador’d by Lovers most;

How oft under thy Covert she has damn’d her self,

With feigned Love to me! [_In Passion_.

_Cor_. Heavens! this is Impudence: that Power I call to witness too, how

damnably thou injur’st me. [_Angry_.

_Gal_. You never from your Window talk’d of Love to me?

_Cor_. Never.

_Gal_. So, nor you’re no Curtezan?

_Cor_. No, by my Life.

_Gal_. So, nor do intend to be, by all that’s good?

_Cor_. By all that’s good, never.

_Gal_. So, and you are real honest, and of Quality?

_Cor_. Or may I still be wretched.

_Gal_. So, then farewel Honesty and Quality--’Sdeath, what a Night, what

Hopes, and what a Mistress, have I all lost for Honesty and Quality!

[_Offers to go_.

_Cor_. Stay.--

_Gal_. I will be rack’d first, let go thy hold!

[_In fury_.

--Unless thou wou’dst repent.--

[_In a soft tone_.

_Cor_. I cannot of my fixt Resolves for Virtue!

--But if you could but--love me--honourably--

For I assum’d this Habit and this Dress--

_Gal_. To cheat me of my Heart the readiest way: And now, like gaming

Rooks, unwilling to give o’er till you have hook’d in my last stake, my

Body too, you cozen me with Honesty.--Oh, damn the Dice--I’ll have no

more on’t, I, the Game’s too deep for me, unless you play’d upon the

square, or I could cheat like you.--

Farewel, Quality--

[_Goes out_.

_Cor_. He’s gone; _Philippa_, run and fetch him back; I have but this

short Night allow’d for Liberty; Perhaps to morrow I may be a Slave.

[_Ex_. Phil.

--Now o’ my Conscience there never came good of this troublesome Virtue--

hang’t, I was too serious; but a Devil on’t, he looks so charmingly--and

was so very pressing, I durst trust my gay Humour and good Nature no

farther.

[_She walks about, Sir_ Signal _peeps and then comes out_.

Sir _Sig_. He’s gone!--so, ha, ha, ha. As I hope to breathe, Madam, you

have nost neatly dispatcht him; poor fool--to compare his Wit and his

Person to mine.--

_Cor_. Hah, the Coxcomb here still.--

Sir _Sig_. Well, this Countenance of mine never fail’d me yet.

Cor. Ah--

[_Looking about on him, sees his face black,

squeaks and runs away_.

Sir _Sig_. Ah, whe, what the Deavilo’s that for?

--Whe, ‘tis I, ‘tis I, most _Serenissima Signiora_!

[Gal. _returns and_ Philippa.

_Gal_. What noise is that, or is’t some new design

To fetch me back again?

Sir _Sig_. How! _Galliard_ return’d!

_Gal_. Hah! what art thou? a Mortal or a Devil?

Sir _Sig_. How, not know me? now might I pass upon him most daintily for

a Devil, but that I have been beaten out of one Devilship already, and

dare venture no more Conjurationing.

_Gal_. Dog, what art thou--not speak! Nay, then I’ll inform my self, and

try if you be flesh and blood.

[_Kicks him, he avoids_.

Sir _Sig_. No matter for all this--’tis better to be kickt than

discovered, for then I shall be kill’d: and I can sacrifice a Limb or two

to my Reputation at any time.

_Gal_. Death, ‘tis the Fool, the Fool for whom I am abus’d and jilted?

’.is some revenge to disappoint her Cunning, and drive the Slave before

me--Dog! were you her last reserve?

[_Kicks him, he keeps in his cry_.

Sir _Sig_. Still I say Mum.

_Gal_. The Ass will still appear through all disguises,

Nor can the Devil’s shape secure the Fool--

[_Kicks him, he runs out, as_ Cor. _enters and holds_ Gal.

_Cor_. Hold, Tyrant--

_Gal_. Oh Women, Women, fonder in your Appetites Than Beasts, and more

unnatural! For they but couple with their Kind, but you Promiscuously

shuffle your Brutes together, The Fop of business with the lazy Gown-men

--the learned Ass with the illiterate Wit--the empty Coxcomb with the

Politician, as dull and insignificant as he; from the gay Fool made more

a Beast by Fortune to all the loath’d infirmities of Age. Farewel--I

scorn to croud with the dull Herd, or graze upon the Common where they

fatten.

[_Goes out_.

_Phil_. I know he loves, by this concern I know it,

And will not let him part dissatisfied.

[_Goes out_.

_Cor_. By all that’s good, I love him more each moment, and know he’s

destin’d to be mine.--

[_Enter_ Marcella.

--What hopes, _Marcella_? what is’t we next shall do?

_Mar_. Fly to our last reserve; come, let’s haste and dress in that

disguise we took our flight from _Viterbo_ in,--and something I resolve.

_Cor_. My soul informs me what--I ha’t! a Project worthy of us both--

which whilst we dress I’ll tell thee,--and by which,

My dear _Marcella_, we will stand or fall:

‘Tis our last Stake we set; and have at all.

[_Exeunt_.

ACT V.

SCENE I. _The Corso_.

_Enter_ Petro, Tickletext, _from the Garden_.

_Tick_. Haste, honest _Barberacho_, before the Day discover us to the

wicked World, and that more wicked _Galliard_.

_Pet_. Well, Signior, of a bad turn it was a good one, that he took you

for Sir _Signal_! the Scandal lies at his door now Sir,--so the Ladder’s

fast, you may now mount and away.--

_Tick_. Very well, go your ways, and commend me, honest _Barberacho_, to

the young Gentlewoman, and let her know, as soon as I may be certain to

run no hazard in my Reputation, I’ll visit her again.

_Pet_. I’ll warrant ye, Signior, for the future.

_Tick_. So, now get you gone lest we be discover’d.

_Pet_. Farewel, Signior, _a bon viage_.

[_Ex_. Pet. Tick, _descends_.

_Tick_. ‘Tis marvellous dark, and I have lost my Lanthorn in the fray!

[_Groping_.]

--hah--whereabouts am I--hum--what have we here!--ah, help, help, help!

[_Stumbles_ _at the Well, gets hold of the Rope, and slides

down in the Bucket_.]

I shall be drown’d, Fire, Fire, Fire! for I have Water enough! Oh, for

some House,--some Street; nay, wou’d _Rome_ it-self were a second time in

flames, that my Deliverance might be wrought by the necessity for Water:

but no human Help is nigh--oh!

_Enter Sir_ Sig. _as before_.

Sir _Sig_. Did ever any Knight-Adventurer run through so many Disasters

in one night! my worshipful Carcase has been cudgel’d most plentifully,

first bang’d for a Coward, which by the way was none of my Fault, I

cannot help Nature: then claw’d away for a _Diavillo_, there I was the

Fool; but who can help that too? frighted with _Gal’s_ coming into an

Ague; then chimney’d into a Fever, where I had a fine Regale of Soot, a

Perfume which nothing but my _Cackamarda Orangate_ cou’d exceell; and

which I find by [_snuffs_] my smelling has defac’d Nature’s Image, and

a second time made me be suspected for a Devil.--let me see--[_Opens

his Lanthorn, and looks on his Hands_.] ‘tis so--I am in a cleanly

Pickle: if my Face be of the same Hue, I am fit to scare away old

_Beelzebub_ himself, i’faith: [_Wipes his Face_.]--ay, ‘tis so, like

to like, quoth the Devil to the Collier: well I’ll home, scrub my self

clean if possible, get me to Bed, devise a handsom Lye to excuse my long

stay to my Governour, and all’s well, and the Man has his Mare again.

[_Shuts his Lanthorn and gropes away, runs against the Well.--Quequesto

(feels gently.)_] Make me thankful ‘tis substantial Wood, by your leave--

[_Opens his Lanthorn_.] How! a Well! sent by Providence that I may wash

my self, lest People smoke me by the scent, and beat me a-new for

stinking: [_Sets down his Lanthorn, pulls of his Masking-Coat, and goes

to draw Water_.] ‘Tis a damnable heavy Bucket! now do I fancy I shall

look, when I am washing my self, like the sign of the Labour-in-vain.

_Tick_. So, my cry is gone forth, and I am delivered by Miracle from this

Dungeon of Death and Darkness, this cold Element of Destruction--

Sir _Sig_. Hah--sure I heard a dismal hollow Voice.

[Tick. _appears in the Bucket above the Well_.

_Tick_. What, art thou come in Charity?

Sir _Sig_. Ah, _le Diavilo, le Diavilo, le Diavilo_.

[_Lets go the Bucket, and is running frighted away_.

_Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Page, _he returns_.

--How, a Man! was ever wretched Wight so miserable, the Devil at one

hand, and a _Roman_ Night-walker at the other; which danger shall I

chuse?

[_Gets to the door of the House_.

_Tick_. So, I am got up at last--thanks to my Knight, for I am sure ‘twas

he! hah, he’s here--I’ll hear his Business.

[_Goes near to_ Fillamour.

_Fil_. Confound this Woman, this bewitching Woman: I cannot shake her

from my sullen Heart; Spite of my Soul I linger hereabouts, and cannot to

_Viterbo_.

_Tick_. Very good; a dainty Rascal this!

_Enter_ Galliard _with a Lanthorn, as from_ Silvia’s

_House, held by_ Philippa.

_Fil_.--Hah, who’s this coming from her House? Perhaps ‘tis _Galliard_.

_Gal_. No Argument shall fetch me back, by Heaven.

_Fil_. ‘Tis the mad Rogue.

_Tick_. Oh Lord, ‘tis _Galliard_, and angry too; now cou’d I but get off,

and leave Sir _Signal_ to be beaten, ‘twere a rare project--but ‘tis

impossible without discovery.

_Phil_. But will you hear her, Signior?

_Gal_. That is, will I lose more time about her? Plague on’t, I have

thrown away already such Songs and Sonnets, such Madrigals and Posies,

such Night-walks, Sighs, and direful Lovers looks, as wou’d have

mollify’d any Woman of Conscience and Religion; and now to be popt i’th’

mouth with Quality! Well, if ever you catch me lying with any but honest

well-meaning Damsels hereafter, hang me:--farewel, old Secret, farewel.

[_Ex_. Philippa.

--Now am I asham’d of being cozen’d so damnably, _Fillamour_, that

virtuous Rascal, will so laugh at me; s’heart, cou’d I but have debaucht

him, we had been on equal terms.--but I must help my self with lying, and

swear I have--a--

_Fil_. You shall not need, I’ll keep your Counsel, Sir.

_Gal_. Hah--_estes vous la_?--

_Tick_. How, _Fillamour_ all this while! some Comfort yet, I am not the

only Professor that dissembles: but how to get away--

_Gal_. Oh _Harry_, the most damnably defeated!

[_A Noise of Swords_.

_Fil_. Hold! what Noise is that? two Men coming this way as from the

house of the Curtezans.