_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 'tis 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 'tis the young Gentlewoman.
[_He advances forward_.
_Gal_. Silence and Night, Love and dear Opportunity.