[_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.