_Pet._ Heaven, what noise is this?-- we are undone, part 'em, _Sancho_.
[They part 'em.
_Feth._ Give me my Sword; nay, give me but a Knife, that I may cut yon Fellow's Throat--
_Car._ Sirrah, I'm a Grandee, and a _Spaniard_, and will be reveng'd.
_Feth._ And I'm an _English-man_, and a Justice, and will have Law, Sir.
_Pet._ Say 'tis her Husband, or any thing to get him hence.
[Aside to _Sancho_, who whispers him.
These _English_, Sir, are Devils, and on my Life 'tis unknown to the Seigniora that he's i'th' House.
[To _Carlo_ aside.
_Car._ Come, I'm abus'd, but I must put it up for fear of my Honour; a Statesman's Reputation is a tender thing: Convey me out the back way.
I'll be reveng'd.
[Goes out.
_Feth._ (_Aurelia_ whispers to him aside.) How, her Husband! Prithee convey me out; my Clothes, my Clothes, quickly--
_Aur._ Out, Sir! he has lock'd the Door, and designs to have ye murder'd.
_Feth._ Oh, gentle Soul-- take pity on me-- where, oh what shall I do?-- my Clothes, my Sword and Money.
_Aur._ Quickly, _Sancho_, tie a Sheet to the Window, and let him slide down by that-- Be speedy, and we'll throw your Clothes out after ye.
Here, follow me to the Window.
_Feth._ Oh, any whither, any whither. That I could not be warn'd from whoring in a strange Country, by my Friend _Ned Blunt's_ Example-- if I can but keep it secret now, I care not.
[Exeunt.
Scene, the Street, a Sheet tyd to the Balcony, and _Feth._ sitting cross to slide down.
_Feth._ So-- now your Neck, or your Throat, chuse ye either, wise Mr.
_Nicholas Fetherfool_-- But stay, I hear Company. Now dare not I budg an Inch.
Enter _Beaumond_ alone.
_Beau._ Where can this Rascal, my Page, be all this while? I waited in the Piazza so long, that I believed he had mistook my Order, and gone directly to _La Nuche's_ House-- but here's no sign of him--
_Feth._ Hah-- I hear no noise, I'll venture down.
[Goes halfway down and stops.
Enter _Abevile_, _Harlequin_, Musick and _Willmore_.
_Will._ Whither will this Boy conduct me?-- but since to a Woman, no matter whither 'tis.
_Feth._ Hah, more Company; now dare not I stir up nor down, they may be Bravoes to cut my Throat.
_Beau._ Oh sure these are they--
_Will._ Come, my Heart, lose no time, but tune your Pipes.
[_Harlequin_ plays on his Guittar, and sings.
_Beau._ How, sure this is some Rival.
[Goes near and listens.
_Will._ Harkye, Child, hast thou ne'er an amorous Ditty, short and sweet, hah--
_Abev._ Shall I not sing that you gave me, Sir?
_Will._ I shall spoil all with hard Questions-- Ay, Child-- that that.
[_Abev._ sings, _Beau._ listens, and seems angry the while.
SONG.
_A Pox upon this needless Scorn!
_Silvia_, for shame the Cheat give o'er; The end to which the fair are born, Is not to keep their Charms in store, But lavishly dispose in haste, Of Joys-- which none but Youth improve; Joys which decay when Beauty's past: And who when Beauty's past will love?
When Age those Glories shall deface, Revenging all your cold Disdain, And _Silvia_ shall neglected pass, By every once admiring Swain; And we can only Pity pay, When you in vain too late shall burn: If Love increase, and Youth delay, Ah, _Silvia_, who will make return?
Then haste, my _Silvia_, to the Grove, Where all the Sweets of _May_ conspire, To teach us every Art of Love, And raise our Charms of Pleasure higher; Where, whilst imbracing we should lie Loosely in Shades, on Banks of Flowers: The duller World whilst we defy, Years will be Minutes, Ages Hours._
_Beau._ 'Sdeath, that's my Page's Voice: Who the Devil is't that ploughs with my Heifer!
_Aur._ Don Henrick, Don Henrick-- [The Door opens, _Beau._ goes up to't; _Will._ puts him by, and offers to go in, he pulls him back.
_Will._ How now, what intruding Slave art thou?
_Beau._ What Thief art thou that basely, and by dark, rob'st me of all my Rights?
[Strikes him, they fight, and Blows light on _Fetherfool_ who hangs down.
[_Sancho_ throws _Fetherfool's_ Clothes out, _Harlequin_ takes 'em up in confusion; they fight out _Beaumond_, all go off, but _Will._ gets into the House: _Harlequin_ and _Feth._ remain. _Feth._ gets down, runs against _Harlequin_ in the dark, both seem frighted.
_Harl._ _Que questo._
_Feth._ Ay, _un pouer dead Home_, murder'd, kill'd.
_Harl._ (_In Italian._) You are the first dead Man I ever saw walk.
_Feth._ Hah, Seignior _Harlequin_!
_Harl._ _Seignior Nicholas!_
_Feth._ A Pox _Nicholas_ ye, I have been mall'd and beaten within doors, and hang'd and bastinado'd without doors, lost my Clothes, my Money, and all my Moveables; but this is nothing to the Secret taking Air. Ah, dear _Seignior_, convey me to the Mountebanks, there I may have Recruit and Cure under one.
ACT V.