Chapter 56

_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_.