_Bal_. Taken,--Great _Turk_,--what do mean?
_Fran_. Mean, Sir! why, how the Devil came you into _Turkey_?
_Bal_. Sure, Jealousy has crack'd his brains.
_Fran_. Crack me no Cracks, good Father mine;--am not I a Slave in _Turkey_? and is not this the _Grand Seignior's_ Palace?
_Car_. So,--all will come out, there's no prevention. [_Aside_.
_Seb_. Some that are wiser answer us: You, Son,--are you infected too?--was not yesterday to have been your Wedding-day?
_Ant_. To day has done as well, Sir, I have only chang'd _Isabella_ for _Clara_.
_Seb_. How, _Francisco_, have you juggled with me?
_Fran_. My Daughter's a Lady, Sir.
_Bal_. And you, Mistress, you have married _Antonio_, and left the Governor.
_Cla_. I thought him the fitter Match, Sir, and hope your Pardon.
_Jul_. We cannot scape.
_Fran_. But how came you hither, Gentlemen, how durst you venture?
_Seb_. Whither, Sir, to my own Son's house; is there such danger in coming a mile or two out of _Cadiz_?
_Fran_. Is the Devil in you, or me, or both? Am not I in the Possession of _Turks_ and Infidels?
_Bal_. No, Sir; safe in _Antonio Villa_, within a League of _Cadiz_.
_Fran_. Why, what a Pox, is not this the Great _Turk_ himself?
_Bal_. This, Sir,--cry mercy, my Lord,--'tis Don _Carlos_, Sir, the Governor.
_Fran_. The Governor! the worst Great _Turk_ of all; so, I am cozened, --most rarely cheated; why, what a horrid Plot's here carried on, to bring in heretical Cuckoldom?
_Car_. Well, Sir, since you have found it out, I'll own my Passion.
_Jul_. Well, if I have been kind you forced me to't, nay, begged on your knees, to give my self away.
_Fran_. Guilty, guilty, I confess,--but 'twas to the Great _Turk_, Mistress, not Don _Carlos_.
_Jul_. And was the Sin the greater?
_Fran_. No, but the Honour was less.
_Bal_. Oh horrid! What, intreat his Wife to be a Whore?
_Car_. Sir, you're mistaken, she was my Wife in sight of Heaven before; and I but seiz'd my own.
_Fran_. Oh,--Sir, she's at your Service still.
_Car_. I thank you, Sir, and take her as my own.
_Bal_. Hold, my Honour's concerned.
_Fran_. Not at all, Father mine, she's my Wife, my Lumber now, and, I hope, I may dispose of my Goods and Chattels--if he takes her we are upon equal terms, for he makes himself my Cuckold, as he has already made me his;--for, if my memory fail me not, we did once upon a time consummate, as my Daughter has it.
_Enter_ Guiliom _in his own dress; crying Chimney-Sweep_.
_Guil_. Chimney-sweep,--by your leave, Gentlemen.
_Ant_. Whither away, Sirrah?
_Guil_. What's that to you, Sir?--
_Ant_. Not to me, Sirrah;--who wou'd you speak with?
_Guil_. What's that to you, Sir? why, what a Pox, may not a man speak with his own Lady and Wife?
_Cla_. Heavens! his Wife! to look for his Wife amongst Persons of Quality!
_Car_. Kick out the Rascal.
_Guil_. As soon as you please, my Lord; but let me take my Wife along with me.
[_Takes_ Isa. _by the hand_.
_Isa_. Faugh! what means the Devil?
_Guil_. Devil; 'twas not long since you found me a human creature within there.
_Isa_. Villain, Dog; help me to tear his Eyes out.
_Guil_. What, those Eyes, those lovely Eyes, that wounded you so deeply?
_Fran_. What's the meaning of all this? why, what, am I cozen'd? and is my Daughter cozen'd?
_Guil_. Cozen'd! why, I am a Man, Sir.
_Fran_. The Devil you are, Sir, how shall I know that?
_Guil_. Your Daughter does, Sir; and that's all one.
_Isa_. Oh! I'm undone; am I no Viscountess then.
_Guil_. Hang Titles; 'twas my self you lov'd, my amiable sweet and charming self: In fine, sweet-heart, I am your Husband; no Viscount, but honest _Guiliom_, the Chimney-sweeper.--I heard your Father design'd to marry you to a Tradesman, and you were for a Don; and to please you both, you see how well I have managed matters.
_Fran_. I'll not give her a farthing.