The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. II by Aphra Behn

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_Pet_. Ay, Signior, in your Country the Laity have so little Honesty,
they are not to be trusted with the taking off your Beard unless you
see't done:--but here's a Glass, Sir.
[_Gives him the Glass_.

[Tick. _sets himself and smirks in the Glass_, Pet. _standing
behind him, making horns and grimaces, which_ Tick. _sees in the
Glass, gravely rises, turns towards_ Petro.

_Tick_. Why, how now, _Barberacho_, what monstrous Faces are you making
there?

_Pet_. All, my Belly, my Belly, Signior: ah, this Wind-Cholick! this
Hypocondriack does so torment me! ah--

_Tick_. Alas, poor Knave; _certo_, I thought thou hadst been somewhat
uncivil with me, I profess I did.

_Pet_. Who, I, Sir, uncivil?--I abuse my Patrone!--I that have almost
made my self a Pimp to serve you?

_Tick_. Teze, teze, honest _Barberacho!_ no, no, no, all's well, all's
well:--but hark ye--you will be discreet and secret in this business now,
and above all things conceal the knowledge of this Gentlewoman from Sir
_Signal_ and Mr. _Galliard_.

_Pet_. The Rack, Signior, the Rack shall not extort it.

_Tick_. Hold thy Hand--there's somewhat for thee, [_Gives him Money_.]
but shall I, Rogue--shall I see her to night?--

_Pet_. To night, Sir, meet me in the Piazza _D'Hispagnia_, about ten a
Clock,--I'll meet you there,--but 'tis fit, Signior--that I should
provide a Collation,--'tis the custom here, Sir.--

_Tick_. Well, well, what will it come to?--here's an Angel.--

_Pet_. Why, Sir, 'twill come to--about--for you wou'd do't handsomely--
some twenty Crowns.--

_Tick_. How, man, twenty Crowns!

_Pet_. Ay, Signior, thereabouts.

_Tick_. Twenty Crowns!--Why, 'tis a Sum, a Portion, a Revenue.

_Pet_. Alas, Signior, 'tis nothing with her,--she'll look it out in an
hour,--ah, such an Eye, so sparkling, with an amorous Twire--Then, Sir--
she'll kiss it out in a moment,--such a Lip, so red, so round, so plump,
so soft, and so--

_Tick_. Why, has she, has she, Sirrah--hah--here, here, prithee take
money, here, and make no words on't--go, go your way, go--But to
entertain Sir _Signal_ with other matter, pray send his Masters to him;
if thou canst help him to Masters, and me to Mistresses, thou shalt be
the good Genius of us both: but see where he comes--

_Enter Sir_ Signal.

Sir _Sig_. Hah! _Signior Illustrissimo Barberacho_, let me hug thee, my
little _Miphistophiloucho_--de ye see here, how fine your Brokering Jew
has made me, Signior _Rabbi Manaseth--Ben--Nebiton_, and so forth; hah--
view me round--
[_Turns round_.

_Tick_. I profess 'tis as fit as if it had been made for you.

Sir _Sig_. Made for me--Why, Sir, he swore to me by the old Law, that
'twas never worn but once, and that but by one High-German Prince--I have
forgot his name--for the Devil can never remember a fart these dam'd
_Hogan-Mogan_ Titles.

_Tick_. No matter, Sir.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, but I shou'd be loth to be in any man's Clothes, were he
never so high a German Prince--except I knew his name though.

_Tick_. Sir, I hold his name unnecessary to be remembred, so long as
'twas a princely Penniworth.--_Barberacho_, get you gone, and send the
Masters.
[_Ex_. Petro.

Sir _Sig_. Why, how now, Governour? how now, Signior _Tickletext_!
prithee how camest thou so transmogrified, ha? why, thou look'st like any
new-fledg'd _Cupid_.

_Tick_. Do I? away, you flatter; do I?

Sir _Sig_. As I hope to breathe, your Face shines through your pouder'd
Hairs, like you know what on a Barn-door in a frosty morning.

_Tick_. What a filthy comparison there for a man of my Coat?

Sir _Sig_. What, angry--_Corpo di me_, I meant no harm,--Come, shall's to
a _Bonaroba_, where thou shalt part with thy Pusilage, and that of thy
Beard together?

_Tick_. How mean you, Sir, a Curtezan, and a Romish Curtezan?

Sir _Sig_. Now my Tutor's up, ha, ha, ha--and ever is when one names a
Whore; be pacify'd, Man, be pacify'd, I know thou hat'st 'em worse than
Beads or Holy-water.

_Tick_. Away, you are such another Knight--but leave this naughty
discourse, and prepare for your Fencing and Civility-Masters, who are
coming.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, when, Governour, when? Oh, how I long for my
Civility-Master, that I may learn to out-complement all the dull
Knights and Squires in _Kent_, with a _Servitore Hulichimo--No
Signiora Bellissima, base le Mane de vos Signiora scusa mia
Illustrissimo, caspeto de Bacco_, and so I'll run on, hah, Governour,
hah! won't this be pure?

_Tick_. Notably ingenious, I profess.

Sir _Sig_. Well, I'll send my _Staffiera_ for him _incontinente_.--he,
_Jack_--a--_Cazo_, what a damned _English_ name is _Jack_? let me see--I
will call him _Giovanni_--which is as much as to say _John_!--he
_Giovanni_.

_Enter_ Jack.

_Tick_. Sir, by your favour, his _English_ Protestant Name is _John
Pepper_, and I'll call him by ne'er a Popish Name in Christendom.

Sir _Sig_. I'll call my own man, Sir, by what name I please, Sir; and let
me tell you, Reverend Mr. _Tickletext_, I scorn to be served by any man
whose name has not an _Acho_ or an _Oucho_, or some _Italiano_ at the end
on't--therefore _Giovanni Peperacho_ is the name by which you shall be
distinguish'd and dignify'd hereafter.

_Tick_. Sir _Signal_, Sir _Signal_, let me tell you, that to call a man
out of his name is unwarrantable, for _Peter_ is call'd _Peter_, and
_John John_; and I'll not see the poor Fellow wrong'd of his Name for
ne'er a _Giovanni_ in _Rome_.

Sir _Sig_. Sir, I tell you that one _Italian_ Name is worth any two
_English_ Names in Europe, and I'll be judg'd by my Civility-Master.

_Tick_. Who shall end the dispute if he be of my opinion?

Sir _Sig_. _Multo voluntiero_, which is as much as to say, with all my
heart.

_Jack_. But, Sir, my Grandmother wou'd never own me, if I should change
the cursen Name she gave me with her own hands, an't please your Worship.

Sir _Sig_. He _Bestia_! I'll have no more of your Worship, Sirrah, that
old _English_ Sir Reverence, let me have you call me _Signior
Illustrissimo_ or Patrona Mea_--or--

_Tick_. Ay, that I like well enough now:--but hold, sure this is one of
your Masters.

_Enter_ Petro _drest like a French Fencing-Master_.

_Pet_. Signior _Barberacho_ has sent me to teach you de Art of Fencing.

Sir _Sig_. _Illustrissimo Signior Monsieur_, I am the Person who am to
learn.

_Tick_. Stay, Sir, stay--let me ask him some few questions first: for,
Sir, I have play'd at Back-Sword, and cou'd have handled ye a weapon as
well as any Man of my time in the University.

Sir _Sig_. Say you so, Mr. _Tickletext?_ and faith, you shall have a bout
with him.

[Tick. _gravely goes to_ Petro.

_Tick_. Hum--hum--Mr. _Monsieur_--pray what are the Guards that you like
best?

_Pet_. _Monsieur, eder de Quart or de Terse_, dey be both _French_ and
_Italian_: den for your Parades, Degagements, your Advancements, your
Eloynements and Retierments, dey be de same.

_Tick_. Cart and Horse, what new-found inventions and words have we
here?--Sir, I wou'd know, whether you like St. _George's_ Guard or not.

_Pet_. Alons--_Monsieur, Mettez vous en Guard!_ take de Flurette.

Sir _Sig_. Nay, faith and troth, Governor, thou shalt have a Rubbers with
him.

[Tick, _smiling refuses_.

_Tick_. Nay, _certo_, Sir _Signal_,--and yet you shall prevail;--well,
Sir, come your ways.
[_Takes the Flurette_.

_Pet_. Set your right foot forward, turn up your hand so--dat be _de
Quart_--now turn it dus--and dat be _de Terse_.

_Tick_. Hocus Pocus, Hicksius Doxius--here be de Cart, and here be de
Horse--why, what's all this for; hah, Sir--and where's your Guard all
this while?

Sir _Sig_. Ay, Sir, where's your Guard, Sir, as my Governour says, Sir,
hah?

_Tick_. Come, come, Sir, I must instruct you, I see; Come your ways,
Sir.--

_Pet_. _Attende, attende une peu_--trust de right hand and de right leg
forward together.--

_Tick_. I marry, Sir, that's a good one indeed: What shall become of my
Head then, Sir? what Guard have I left for that, good Mr. _Monsieur_,
hah?

_Pet_. Ah, Morbleu, is not dis for every ting?

_Tick_. No, marry, is not it, Sir; St. _George's_ Guard is best for the
Head whilst you live--as thus, Sir.

_Pet_. Dat, Sir, ha, ha--dat be de Guard for de Back-Sword.

_Tick_. Back-sword, Sir, yes, Back-sword, what shou'd it be else?

_Pet_. And dis be de Single-Rapier.

_Tick_. Single-Rapier with a Vengeance, there's a weapon for a Gentleman
indeed; is all this stir about Single-Rapier?

_Pet_. Single-Rapier! What wou'd you have for de Gentlemen, de Cudgel for
de Gentlemen?

_Tick_. No, Sir, but I wou'd have it for de Rascally _Frenchman_,
who comes to abuse Persons of Quality with paltry Single-Rapier.--
Single-Rapier! Come, Sir, come--put your self in your Cart and your
Horse as you call it, and I'll shew you the difference.

[_Undresses himself till he appears in a ridiculous Posture_.

_Pet_. Ah, _Monsieur_, me sall run you two three times through de Body,
and den you break a me head, what care I for dat?--Pox on his ignorance.
[_Aside_.

_Tick_. Oh, ho, Sir, do your worst, Sir, do your worst, Sir.

[_They put themselves into several Guards, and_ Tick. _beats_
Pet. _about the Stage.--Enter_ Gall. Fill. _and_ Jul.

_Pet_. Ah, _Monsieur, Monsieur_, will you kill a me?

_Tick_. Ah, _Monsieur_, where be your Carts now, and your Horse, Mr.
_Monsieur_, hah?--and your Single-Rapier, Mr. _Monsieur_, hah?--

_Gal_. Why, how now, Mr. _Tickletext_, what mortal Wars are these? _Ajax_
and _Ulysses_ contending for _Achilles_ his Armour?

_Pet_. If I be not reveng'd on him, hang me. [_Aside_

Sir _Sig_. Ay, why, who the Devil wou'd have taken my Governor for so
tall a man of hands? but _Corpo de me_, Mr. _Galliard_, I have not seen
his Fellow.

_Tick_. Ah, Sir, time was, I wou'd have play'd ye a Match at Cudgels with
e'er a Sophister in the College, but verily I have forgotten it; but
here's an Impudent _Frenchman_ that wou'd have past Single-Rapier
upon us.

_Gal_. How, nay a my word, then he deserv'd to be chastis'd for't--but
now all's at Peace again; pray know my Kinsman, Sir _Harry Fillamour_.

Sir _Sig_. _Yo baco les manos_, Signior _Illustrissimo Cavaliero_,--and
yours, Signiors, who are _Multo bien Venito_.

_Tick_. Oh Lord, Sir, you take me, Sir, in such a posture, Sir, as I
protest I have not been in this many years.

[_Dressing himself whilst he talks_.

_Fil_. Exercise is good for health, Sir.

_Gal_. Sir _Signal_, you are grown a perfect _Italian_: Well, Mr.
_Tickletext_, you will carry him home a most accomplish't Gentleman I
see.

_Tick_. Hum, verily, Sir, though I say it, for a Man that never travell'd
before, I think I have done reasonably well--I'll tell you, Sir--it was
by my directions and advice that he brought over with him,--two _English_
Knives, a thousand of _English_ Pins, four pair of _Jersey_ Stockings,
and as many pair of Buckskin Gloves.

Sir _Sig_. Ay, Sir, for good Gloves you know are very scarce Commodities
in this Country.

_Jul_. Here, Sir, at _Rome_, as you say, above all other places.

_Tick_. _Certo_, mere hedging Gloves, Sir, and the clouterlest Seams.

_Fil_. Very right, Sir,--and now he talks of _Rome_,--Pray, Sir, give me
your opinion of the Place--Are there not noble Buildings here, rare
Statues, and admirable Fountains?

_Tick_. Your Buildings are pretty Buildings, but not comparable to our
University Buildings; your Fountains, I confess, are, pretty Springs,--
and your Statues reasonably well carv'd--but, Sir, they are so ancient
they are of no value: then your Churches are the worst that ever I saw--
that ever I saw.

_Gal_. How, Sir, the Churches, why I thought _Rome_ had been famous
throughout all _Europe_ for fine Churches.

_Fil_. What think you of St. _Peter's_ Church, Sir? Is it not a glorious
Structure?

_Tick_. St. _Peter's_ Church, Sir, you may as well call it St. _Peter's_
Hall, Sir; it has neither Pew, Pulpit, Desk, Steeple, nor Ring of Bells;
and call you this a Church, Sir? No, Sir, I'll say that for little
_England_, and a fig for't, for Churches, easy Pulpits, [Sir _Sig.
speaks_, And sleeping Pews,] they are as well ordered as any Churches in
Christendom: and finer Rings of Bells, Sir, I am sure were never heard.

_Jul_. Oh, Sir, there's much in what you say.

_Fil_. But then, Sir, your rich Altars, and excellent Pictures of the
greatest Masters of the World, your delicate Musick and Voices, make some
amends for the other wants.

_Tick_. How, Sir! tell me of your rich Altars, your Guegaws and Trinkets,
and Popish Fopperies, with a deal of Sing-song--when I say, give me, Sir,
five hundred close Changes rung by a set of good Ringers, and I'll not
exchange 'em for all the Anthems in _Europe_: and for the Pictures, Sir,
they are Superstition, idolatrous, and flat Popery.

_Fil_. I'll convince you of that Error, that persuades you harmless
Pictures are idolatrous.

_Tick_. How, Sir, how, Sir, convince me! talk to me of being convinc'd,
and that in favour of Popery! No, Sir, by your favour I shall not be
convinc'd: convinc'd, quoth a!--no, Sir, fare you well, an you be for
convincing: come away, Sir _Signal_, fare you well, Sir, fare you well:--
convinc'd!
[_Goes out_.

Sir _Sig_. Ha, ha, ha, so now is my Governour gone in a Fustian-fume:
well, he is ever thus when one talks of Whoring and Religion: but come,
Sir, walk in, and I'll undertake, my Tutor shall beg your Pardon, and
renounce his _English_ ill-bred Opinion; nay, his _English_ Churches too--all
but his own Vicaridge.

_Fil_. I have better diversion, Sir, I thank you--come, _Julio_, are you
for a Walk in the Garden of _Medices Villa_, 'tis hard by?--

_Jul_. I'll wait on you--
[_Ex_. Fil. _and_ Julio.

Sir _Sig_. How in the Garden of _Medices Villa_?--but, harkye,
_Galliard_, will the Ladies be there, the Curtezans, the _Bona Roba's_,
the _Inamorata's_, and the _Bell Ingrato's_, hah?

_Gal_. Oh, doubtless, Sir.
[_Exit_. Gall.

Sir _Sig_. I'll e'en bring my Governour thither to beg his Pardon, on
purpose to get an opportunity to see the fine Women; it may be I may get
a sight of my new Mistress, _Donna Silvianetta_, whom _Petro_ is to bring
me acquainted with.

[_Exeunt_.

ACT II.

SCENE I. _The Gardens of the Villa Medici_.

_Enter_ Morosini _and_ Octavio.

_Oct_. By Heaven, I will not eat, nor sleep, nor pray for any thing but
swift and sure Revenge, till I have found _Marcella_, that false
deceiving Beauty, or her Lover, my hated Rival _Fillamour_; who, wanton
in the Arms of the fair Fugitive, laughs at my shameful easiness, and
cries, these Joys were never meant for tame _Octavio_.

_Enter_ Crapine.

_Mar_. How now, _Crapine_! What, no News, no News of my Nieces yet,
_Marcella_ and _Cornelia_?

_Crap_. None, Sir.

_Oct_. That's wondrous strange, _Rome's_ a place of that general
Intelligence, methinks thou might'st have News of such trivial things as
Women, amongst the Cardinals Pages: I'll undertake to learn the Religion
_de stato_, and present juncture of all affairs in _Italy_, of a common
Curtezan.

_Mar_. Sirrah, Sirrah, let it be your care to examine all the Nunneries,
for my own part not a Petticoat shall escape me.

_Oct_. My task shall be for _Fillamour_. [_Aside_.

_Mor_. I'll only make a visit to your Sister _Donna Laura Lucretia_, and
deliver her a Letter from my Nephew _Julio_, and return to you
presently.--
[_Going out, is staid by_ Octavio.

_Oct_. Stay, Sir, defer your visit to my Sister _Laura_, she is not yet
to know of my being in Town; 'tis therefore I have taken a Lodging in an
obscure street, and am resolv'd never to be my self again till I've
redeem'd my Honour. Come, Sir, let's walk--

_Enter to them, as they are going out_, Marcella _and_ Cornelia,
_drest like Curtezans_, Philippa, _and Attendance_.

_Mor_. Stay, stay, what Women are these?

_Oct_. Whores, Sir, and so 'tis ten to one are all the kind; only these
differ from the rest in this, they generously own their trade of Sin,
which others deal by stealth in; they are Curtezans.
[_Exeunt_.

_Mar_. The Evening's soft and calm, as happy Lovers Thoughts;
And here are Groves where the kind meeting Trees
Will hide us from the amorous gazing Croud.

_Cor_. What should we do there, sigh till our wandering Breath
Has rais'd a gentle Gale amongst the Boughs;
To whose dull melancholy Musick we,
Laid on a Bed of Moss, and new-fallen Leaves,
Will read the dismal tale of Echo's Love!
--No, I can make better use of famous _Ovid_.
[_Snatches a little Book from her_.
And prithee what a pox have we to do with Trees,
Flowers, Fountains, or naked Statues?

_Mar_. But, prithee, mad _Cornelia_, let's be grave and wise, at least
enough to think a little.

_Cor_. On what? your _English_ Cavalier _Fillamour_, of whom you tell so
many dull stories of his making Love! Oh, how I hate a civil whining
Coxcomb!

_Mar_. And so do I, I'll therefore think of him no more.

_Cor_. Good Lord! what a damnable wicked thing is a Virgin grown up to
Woman.

_Mar_. What, art thou such a Fool to think I love this _Fillamour?_

_Cor_. It may be not at _Rome_, but at _Viterbo_, where Men are scarce,
you did; and did you follow him to _Rome_, to tell him you cou'd love no
more?

_Mar_. A too forward Maid, _Cornelia_, hurts her own Fame, and that of
all her Sex.

_Cor_. Her Sex! a pretty consideration, by my Youth; an Oath I shall not
violate this dozen years: my Sex shou'd excuse me, if to preserve their
Fame they expected I should ruin my own Quiet; in chasing an ill-favour'd
Husband, such as _Octavio_, before a young handsome Lover, such as you
say _Fillamour_ is.

_Mar_. I wou'd fain persuade my self to be of thy mind,--but the World,
_Cornelia_--

_Cor_. Hang the malicious World--

_Mar_. And there's such Charms in Wealth and Honour too.

_Cor_. None half so powerful as Love, in my opinion; 'slife, Sister, thou
art beautiful, and hast a Fortune too, which before I wou'd lay out upon
so shameful a purchase as such a Bedfellow for life as _Octavio_, I wou'd
turn errant keeping Curtezan, and buy my better Fortune.

_Mar_. That Word too startles me.

_Cor_. What, Curtezan! why, 'tis a noble Title, and has more Votaries
than Religion; there's no Merchandize like ours, that of Love, my
Sister:--and can you be frighted with the Vizor, which you your self put
on?

_Mar_. 'Twas the only Disguise that cou'd secure us from the search of my
Uncle and _Octavio_. Our Brother _Julio_ is by this too arriv'd, and I
know they'll all be diligent,--and some Honour I was content to sacrifice
to my eternal Repose.

_Cor_. Spoke like my Sister! a little impertinent Honour, we may chance
to lose, 'tis true; but our down-right Honesty I perceive you are
resolv'd we shall maintain through all the dangers of Love and Gallantry;
though to say truth, I find enough to do, to defend my Heart against some
of those Members that nightly serenade us, and daily show themselves
before our Window, gay as young Bridegrooms, and as full of expectation.

_Mar_. But is't not wondrous, that amongst all these Crouds we should not
once see _Fillamour_? I thought the Charms of a fair young Curtezan might
have oblig'd him to some Curiosity at least.

_Cor_. Ay! and an _English_ Cavalier too, a Nation so fond of all new
Faces.

_Mar_. Heaven, if I should never see him, and I frequent all publick
Places to meet him! or if he be gone
from _Rome_, if he have forgot me, or some other Beauty
have employ'd his Thoughts!

_Cor_. Why; if all these if's and or's come to pass, we
have no more to do than to advance in this same glorious
Profession, of which now we only seem to be--in which,
to give it its due, there are a thousand Satisfactions to be
found, more than in a dull virtuous Life: Oh, the world
of Dark-Lanthorn-Men we should have! the Serenades,
the Songs, the Sighs, the Vows, the Presents, the Quarrels,
and all for a Look or a Smile, which you have been
hitherto so covetous of, that _Petro_ swears our Lovers begin
to suspect us for some honest Jilts; which by some is
accounted much the leuder scandal of the two:--therefore
I think, faith, we must e'en be kind a little to redeem
our Reputations.

_Mar_. However we may railly, certainly there's nothing
so hard to Woman, as to expose her self to villainous Man.

_Cor_. Faith, Sister, if 'twere but as easy to satisfy the nice scruples
of Religion and Honour, I should find no great Difficulty in the rest--
Besides, another Argument I have, our Mony's all gone, and without a
Miracle can hold out no longer honestly.

_Mar_. Then we must sell our Jewels.

_Cor_. When they are gone, what Jewel will you part with next?

_Mar_. Then we must--

_Cor_. What, go home to _Viterbo_, ask the old Gentleman pardon, and be
receiv'd to Grace again, you to the Embraces of the amiable _Octavio_,
and I to St. _Teresa's_, to whistle through a Grate like a Bird in a
Cage,--for I shall have little heart to sing.--But come, let's leave
This sad talk, here's Men--let's walk and gain new Conquest, I love
it dearly--
[_Walk down the Garden_.

_Enter_ Gall. Fill, _and_ Jul. _see the Women_.

_Gal_. Women! and by their garb for our purpose too--they're Curtezans,
let's follow 'em.

_Fil_. What shall we get by gazing but Disquiet? If they are fair and
honest, we look, and perhaps may sigh in vain; if beautiful and loose,
they are not worth regarding.

_Gal_. Dear notional Knight, leave your satirical Fopperies, and be at
least good-humour'd, and let's follow them.

_Jul_. I'll leave you in the Pursuit, and take this Opportunity to write
my Uncle word of my Arrival; and wait on you here anon.

_Fil_. Prithee do so: hah, who's that with such an Equipage?

[_Exit_ Julio, Fil. _and_ Gal. _going after_. Marcella
_and_ Cor. _meet just entring_, Laura _with_ Silvio,
Antonio, _and her Equipage, drest like a Man_.

_Gal_. Pox, let the Tradesmen ask, who cringe for such gay Customers, and
follow us the Women!

[_Exit_ Fil. _and_ Gal. _down the Scene_, Lau. _looking after 'em_.

_Lau_. 'Tis he, my Cavalier, my Conqueror: _Antonio_, let the Coaches
wait,--and stand at distance all: Now, _Silvio_, on thy Life forget my
Sex and Quality, forget my useless name of _Laura Lucretia_, and call me
Count of--

_Sil_. What, Madam?

_Lau_. Madam! ah, foolish Boy, thy feminine Courage will betray us all:--
but--call me Count--_Sans Coeur_.--And tell me, _Silvio_, how is it I
appear?
How dost thou like my Shape--my Face and Dress? My Mien and Equipage, may
I not pass for Man? Looks it _en Prince_ and Masculine?

_Sil_. Now as I live, you look all over what you wish, and such as will
beget a Reverence and Envy in the Men, and Passion in the Women. But
what's the Cause of all this Transformation?

_Lau_. Love! Love! dull Boy, cou'dst thou not guess 'twas Love? that dear
_Englese_ I must enjoy, my _Silvio_.

_Sil_. What, he that adores the fair young Curtezan?

_Lau_. That very he; my Window joins to hers, and 'twas with Charms.
Which he'ad prepar'd for her, he took this Heart,
Which met the welcome Arrows in their flight,
And sav'd her from their Dangers.
Oft I've return'd the Vows he'as made to her,
And sent him pleas'd away;
When through the errors of the Night, and distance,
He has mistook me for that happy Wanton,
And gave me Language of so soft a Power,
As ne'er was breath'd in vain to listning Maids.

_Sil_. But with Permission, Madam, how does this Change of Petticoat for
Breeches, and shifting Houses too, advance that Love?

_Lau_. This Habit, besides many Opportunities 'twill give me of getting
into his acquaintance, secures me too from being known by any of my
Relations in _Rome_: then I have changed my House for one so near to that
of _Silvianetta's_, and so like it too, that even you and I have oft
mistook the entrance: by which means Love, Fortune or Chance, may with my
Industry contrive some kind Mistake that may make me happier than the
rest of Womankind.

_Sil_. But what shall be reserv'd then for Count _Julio_, whose last
Letters promise his Arrival within a Day or two, and whom you're then to
marry?

_Lau_. Reserv'd for him! a Wife! a Wife, my _Silvio_,
That unconcern'd domestick Necessary,
Who rarely brings a Heart, or takes it soon away.--

_Sil_. But then your Brother, Count _Octavio_, do you not fear his
Jealousy?

_Lau_. _Octavio!_ Oh, Nature has set his Soul and mine at odds,
And I can know no Fear but where I love.

_Sil_. And then that thing which Ladies call their Honour.--

_Lau_. Honour, that hated Idol, even by those
That set it up to worship! No,
I have a Soul, my Boy, and that's all Love;
And I'll the Talent which Heaven lent improve.

[_Going out, meets_ Marcella _and_ Cornelia _follow'd
by_ Gal. _and_ Fil.

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