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?
'tis 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_.