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

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Sir _Sig_. Oh, save me, gentle Devil, save me, the stairs are fortify'd
with Cannons and double Culverins; I'm pursu'd by a whole Regiment of
arm'd Men! here's Gold, Gold in abundance, save me.--

_Phil_. What Cannons? what armed Men?

Sir _Sig_. Finding my self pursu'd as I was groping my way through the
Hall, and not being able to find the Door, I made towards the stairs
again, at the foot of which I was saluted with a great Gun--a pox of the
Courtesy.

_Gal_. [_Without_.] Where are ye, Knight, Buffoon, Dog of _Egypt_?

Sir _Sig_. Thunder and Lightning! 'tis _Gallaird's_ Voice.

_Phil_. Here, step behind this Hanging--there's a Chimney which may
shelter ye till the Storm be over,--if you be not smother'd before.
[_Puts him behind the Arras_.

_Enter_ Gal. _as before, and_ Corn, _at the other door_.

_Cor_. Heavens! What rude noise is this?

_Gal_. Where have you hid this Fool, this lucky Fool?
He whom blind Chance, and more ill-judging Woman,
Has rais'd to that Degree of Happiness,
That witty Men must sigh and toil in vain for?

_Cor_. What Fool, what Happiness?

_Gal_. Cease, cunning false one, to excuse thy self,
See here the Trophies of your shameful Choice,
And of my Ruin, cruel--fair Deceiver!

_Cor_. Deceiver, Sir, of whom? in what despairing minute did I swear to
be a constant Mistress? to what dull whining Lover did I vow, and had the
heart to break it?

_Gal_. Or if thou hadst, I know of no such Dog as wou'd believe thee:
No, thou art false to thy own Charms, and hast betray'd them
To the possession of the vilest Wretch
That ever Fortune curst with Happiness;
False to thy Joys, false to thy Wit and Youth:
All which thou'st damn'd with so much careful Industry
To an eternal Fool,
That all the Arts of Love can ne'er redeem thee.

Sir _Sig_. Meaning me, meaning me.
[_Peeping out of the Chimney, his Face blackt_.

_Cor_. A Fool! what Indiscretion have you seen in me, shou'd make ye
think I would choose a Witty man for a Lover, who perhaps loves out his
Month in pure good Husbandry, and in that time does more Mischief than a
hundred Fools. You conquer without Resistance, you treat without Pity,
and triumph without Mercy: and when you are gone, the World crys--she had
not Wit enough to keep him, when indeed you are not Fool enough to be
kept! Thus we forfeit both our Liberties and Discretion with you
villanous witty Men: for Wisdom is but good Success in things, and those
that fail are Fools.

_Gal_. Most gloriously disputed!
You're grown a Machivellian in your Art.

_Cor_. Oh, necessary Maxims only, and the first Politicks we learn from
Observation--I have known a Curtezan grown infamous, despis'd, decay'd,
and ruin'd, in the Possession of you witty Men, who when she had the luck
to break her Chains, and cast her Net for Fools, has liv'd in state,
finer than Brides upon their Wedding-day, and more profuse than the young
amorous Coxcomb that set her up an Idol.

Sir _Sig_. Well argued of my side, I see the Baggage loves me!
[_Peeping out with a Face more smutted_.

_Gal_. And hast thou? Oh, but prithee jilt me on,
And say thou hast not destin'd all thy Charms
To such a wicked Use.
Is that dear Face and Mouth for Slaves to kiss?
Shall those bright Eyes be gaz'd upon, and serve
But to reflect the Images of Fools?

Sir _Sig_. That's I still. [_Peeping more black_.

_Gal_. Shall that soft tender Bosom be approacht
By one who wants a Soul, to breathe in languishment
At every Kiss that presses it?

Sir _Sig_. Soul! what a pox care I for Soul--as long as my Person is so
amiable?

_Gal_. No, renounce that dull Discretion that undoes thee,
Cunning is cheaply to be wise; leave it to those that have
No other Powers to gain a Conquest by,
It is below thy Charms.
--Come swear, and be foresworn most damnably,
Thou hast not yielded yet; say 'twas intended only,
And though thou ly'st, by Heaven, I must believe thee;
--Say,--hast thou--given him--all?

_Cor_. I've done as bad, we have discours'd th' Affair,
And 'tis concluded on.--

Gal. As bad! by Heaven, much worse! discours'd with him!
Wert thou so wretched, so depriv'd of Sense,
To hold Discourse with such an Animal?
Damn it; the Sin is ne'er to be forgiven.
--Hadst thou been wanton to that leud degree,
By dark he might have been conducted to thee;
Where silently he might have serv'd thy purpose,
And thou hadst had some poor excuse for that:
But bartering words with Fools admits of none.

_Cor_. I grant ye,--had I talk'd sense to him, which had
been enough to have lost him for ever.

Sir _Sig_. Poor Devil, how fearful 'tis of losing me! [_Aside_.

_Gal_. That's some Atonement for thy other Sins,--
Come, break thy Word, and wash it quite away.

Sir _Sig_. That cogging won't do, my good Friend, that won't do.

_Gal_. Thou shall be just and perjur'd, and pay my Heart the debt of Love
you owe it.

_Cor_. And wou'd you have the Heart--to make a Whore of me?

_Gal_. With all my Soul, and the Devil's in't if I can give thee a
greater proof of my Passion.

_Cor_. I rather fear you wou'd debauch me into that dull slave call'd a
Wife.

_Gal_. A Wife! have I no Conscience, no Honour in me?
Prithee believe I wou'd not be so wicked--
No,--my Desires are generous, and noble,
To set thee up, that glorious insolent thing,
That makes Mankind such Slaves, almighty Curtezan!
--Come, to thy private Chamber let us haste,
The sacred Temple of the God of Love;
And consecrate thy Power.
[_Offers to bear her off_.

_Cor_. Stay, do you take me then for what I seem?

_Gal_. I am sure I do, and wou'd not be mistaken for a Kingdom:
But if thou art not, I can soon mend that fault,
And make thee so.--Come, I'm impatient to begin the
Experiment.
[_Offers again to carry her off_.

_Cor_. Nay, then I am in earnest,--hold, mistaken Stranger--I am of noble
Birth; and shou'd I in one hapless loving Minute destroy the Honour of my
House, ruin my Youth and Beauty, and all that virtuous Education my
hoping Parents gave me?

_Gal_. Pretty dissembled Pride and Innocence! And wounds no less than
smiles!--Come, let us in,--where I will give thee leave to frown and
jilt; such pretty Frauds advance the Appetite.
[_Offers again_.

_Cor_. By all that's good, I am a Maid of Quality,
Blest with a Fortune equal to my Birth.

_Gal_. I do not credit thee; or if I did,
For once I wou'd dispense with Quality,
And to express my Love, take thee with all these Faults.

_Cor_. And being so, can you expect I'll yield?

_Gal_. The sooner for that reason, if thou'rt wise;
The Quality will take away the Scandal.
Do not torment me longer--
[_Offers to lead her again_.

_Cor_. Stay and be undeceiv'd,--I do conjure ye.--

_Gal_. Art thou no Curtezan?

_Cor_. Not on my life, nor do intend to be.

_Gal_. No Prostitute? nor dost intend to be?

_Cor_. By all that's good, I only feign'd to be so.

_Gal_. No Curtezan! hast thou deceiv'd me then?
Tell me, thou wicked honest cozening Beauty,
Why didst thou draw me in, with such a fair Pretence,
Why such a tempting Preface to invite,
And the whole Piece so useless and unedifying?
--Heavens! not a Curtezan!
Why from thy Window didst thou take my Vows,
And make such kind Returns? Oh, damn your Quality:
What honest Whore but wou'd have scorn'd thy Cunning?

_Cor_. I make ye kind Returns?

_Gal_. Persuade me out of that too; 'twill be like ye.

_Cor_. By all my Wishes I never held Discourse with you--but this
Evening, since I first saw your Face.

_Gal_. Oh, the Impudence of Honesty and Quality in Woman!
A plague upon 'em both, they have undone me!
Bear witness, oh thou gentle Queen of Night,
Goddess of Shades, ador'd by Lovers most;
How oft under thy Covert she has damn'd her self,
With feigned Love to me! [_In Passion_.

_Cor_. Heavens! this is Impudence: that Power I call to witness too, how
damnably thou injur'st me. [_Angry_.

_Gal_. You never from your Window talk'd of Love to me?

_Cor_. Never.

_Gal_. So, nor you're no Curtezan?

_Cor_. No, by my Life.

_Gal_. So, nor do intend to be, by all that's good?

_Cor_. By all that's good, never.

_Gal_. So, and you are real honest, and of Quality?

_Cor_. Or may I still be wretched.

_Gal_. So, then farewel Honesty and Quality--'Sdeath, what a Night, what
Hopes, and what a Mistress, have I all lost for Honesty and Quality!
[_Offers to go_.

_Cor_. Stay.--

_Gal_. I will be rack'd first, let go thy hold!
[_In fury_.
--Unless thou wou'dst repent.--
[_In a soft tone_.

_Cor_. I cannot of my fixt Resolves for Virtue!
--But if you could but--love me--honourably--
For I assum'd this Habit and this Dress--

_Gal_. To cheat me of my Heart the readiest way: And now, like gaming
Rooks, unwilling to give o'er till you have hook'd in my last stake, my
Body too, you cozen me with Honesty.--Oh, damn the Dice--I'll have no
more on't, I, the Game's too deep for me, unless you play'd upon the
square, or I could cheat like you.--
Farewel, Quality--
[_Goes out_.

_Cor_. He's gone; _Philippa_, run and fetch him back; I have but this
short Night allow'd for Liberty; Perhaps to morrow I may be a Slave.
[_Ex_. Phil.
--Now o' my Conscience there never came good of this troublesome Virtue--
hang't, I was too serious; but a Devil on't, he looks so charmingly--and
was so very pressing, I durst trust my gay Humour and good Nature no
farther.
[_She walks about, Sir_ Signal _peeps and then comes out_.

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_.
[_Lets go the Bucket, and is running frighted away_.

_Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Page, _he returns_.

--How, a Man! was ever wretched Wight so miserable, the Devil at one
hand, and a _Roman_ Night-walker at the other; which danger shall I
chuse?
[_Gets to the door of the House_.

_Tick_. So, I am got up at last--thanks to my Knight, for I am sure 'twas
he! hah, he's here--I'll hear his Business.
[_Goes near to_ Fillamour.

_Fil_. Confound this Woman, this bewitching Woman: I cannot shake her
from my sullen Heart; Spite of my Soul I linger hereabouts, and cannot to
_Viterbo_.

_Tick_. Very good; a dainty Rascal this!

_Enter_ Galliard _with a Lanthorn, as from_ Silvia's
_House, held by_ Philippa.

_Fil_.--Hah, who's this coming from her House? Perhaps 'tis _Galliard_.

_Gal_. No Argument shall fetch me back, by Heaven.

_Fil_. 'Tis the mad Rogue.

_Tick_. Oh Lord, 'tis _Galliard_, and angry too; now cou'd I but get off,
and leave Sir _Signal_ to be beaten, 'twere a rare project--but 'tis
impossible without discovery.

_Phil_. But will you hear her, Signior?

_Gal_. That is, will I lose more time about her? Plague on't, I have
thrown away already such Songs and Sonnets, such Madrigals and Posies,
such Night-walks, Sighs, and direful Lovers looks, as wou'd have
mollify'd any Woman of Conscience and Religion; and now to be popt i'th'
mouth with Quality! Well, if ever you catch me lying with any but honest
well-meaning Damsels hereafter, hang me:--farewel, old Secret, farewel.
[_Ex_. Philippa.
--Now am I asham'd of being cozen'd so damnably, _Fillamour_, that
virtuous Rascal, will so laugh at me; s'heart, cou'd I but have debaucht
him, we had been on equal terms.--but I must help my self with lying, and
swear I have--a--

_Fil_. You shall not need, I'll keep your Counsel, Sir.

_Gal_. Hah--_estes vous la_?--

_Tick_. How, _Fillamour_ all this while! some Comfort yet, I am not the
only Professor that dissembles: but how to get away--

_Gal_. Oh _Harry_, the most damnably defeated!
[_A Noise of Swords_.

_Fil_. Hold! what Noise is that? two Men coming this way as from the
house of the Curtezans.

_Enter_ Julio _backwards, fighting_ Octavio _and Bravoes_.

_Gal_. Hah, on retreating,--S'death, I've no Sword!

_Fil_. Here's one, I'll take my Page's.
[_Takes the Boy's Sword_.

_Gal_. Now am I mad for mischief; here, hold my Lanthorn, Boy.

[_They fight on_ Julio's _side, and fight_ Octavio _out at
t'other side: Enter_ Laura _and_ Sabina _at the Fore-door,
which is the same where Sir_ Signal _stands:_ Tick. _groping
up that way, finds Sir_ Sig. _just entring in;_ Laura _and_
Sab. _pass over the Stage_.

Sir _Sig_. Hah, a door open! I care not who it belongs to, 'tis better
dying within Doors like a Man, than in the Street like a Dog.
[_Going in_, Tick. _in great fear comes up and pulls him_.

_Tick_. Signior, gentle Signior, whoe'er you are that owns this Mansion,
I beseech you to give Protection to a wretched Man half dead with Fear
and Injury.

Sir _Sig_. Nay, I defy the Devil to be more dead with Fear than I--
Signior, you may enter, perhaps 'tis some body that will make an Excuse
for us both,--but hark, they return.
[_Both go in, just after_ Lau. _and_ Sab. _and_ Silvio _enter_.

_Lau_. He's gone! he's gone! perhaps for ever gone.--
Tell me, thou silly Manager of Love,
How got this Ruffian in? how was it possible
Without thy Knowledge he cou'd get Admittance?

_Sab_. Now as I hope to live and learn, I know not, Madam, unless he
follow'd you when you let in the Cavalier, which being by dark he easily
conceal'd himself; no doubt some Lover of _Silvianetta's_, who mistaking
you for her, took him too for a Rival.

_Lau_. 'Tis likely, and my Fortune is to blame, my cursed Fortune,
Who like Misers deals her scanty Bounties with so slow a hand,
That or we die before the Blessing falls,
Or have it snatcht e'er we can call it ours.
[_Raving_.]
To have him in my House, to have him kind,
Kind as young Lovers when they meet by stealth;
As fond as Age to Beauty, and as soft
As Love and Wit cou'd make impatient Youth,
Preventing even my Wishes and Desires,
--Oh Gods! and then, even then to be defeated,
Then from my o'erjoy'd Arms to have him snatcht;
Then when our Vows had made our Freedom lawful;
What Maid cou'd suffer a Surprize so cruel?
--The Day begins to break,--go search the Streets,
And bring me news he's safe, or I am lost.

_Enter_ Gal. Fil. _and_ Jul.

_Fil_. _Galliard_, where art thou?

_Gal_. Here safe, and by thy side.--

_Lau_. 'Tis he!

_Jul_. Whoe'er he were, the Rogue fought like a Fury, and but for your
timely Aid I'd been in some Danger.

_Fil_. But, _Galliard_, thou wert telling me thy Adventure with
_Silvianetta_; there may be comfort in't.

_Lau_. So, now I shall hear with what concern he speaks of me.--
[_Aside_.

_Gal_. Oh, damn her, damn her!

_Lau_. Hah!

_Gal_. The veriest Jilt that ever learnt the Art.

_Lau_. Heavens!

_Gal_. Death, the Whore took me for some amorous _English_ elder Brother,
and was for Matrimony, in the Devil's name; thought me a loving Fool,
that ne'er had seen so glorious a sight before, and wou'd at any rate
enjoy.

_Lau_. Oh Heaven! I'm amaz'd, how much he differs from the thing he was
but a few Minutes since. [_Aside_.

_Gal_. And to advance her Price, set up for Quality; nay, swore she was a
Maid, and that she did but act the Curtezan.

_Lau_. Which then he seem'd to give a credit to.--O, the forsworn
Dissembler!

_Gal_. But when I came to the matter then in debate, she was for
honourable Love forsooth, and wou'd not yield, no marry wou'd she, not
under a Licence from the Parson of the Parish.

_Jul_. Who was it, prithee? 'twere a good Deed to be so reveng'd on her.

_Gal_. Pox on her; no, I'm sure she's a damn'd Gipsy, for at the same
time she had her Lovers in reserve, lay hid her Bed-chamber.

_Lau_. 'Twas that he took unkindly, And makes me guilty of that rude
Address.

_Fil_. Another Lover had she?

_Gal_. Yes, our Coxcomb Knight Buffoon, laid by for a relishing Bit, in
case I prov'd not season'd to her Mind.

_Lau_. Hah, he knew him then.

_Gal_. But damn her, she passes with the Night, the Day will bring new
Objects.

_Fil_. Oh, do not doubt it, _Frank_.

_Lau_. False and Inconstant! Oh, I shall rave, _Silvio_--
[_Aside to Sil_.

_Enter_ Cornelia _in Man's Clothes with a Letter_.

_Cor_. Here be the Cavaliers: give me, kind Heaven, but hold of him; and
if I keep him not, I here renounce my Charms of Wit and Beauty--Signiors,
is there a Cavalier amongst ye, call'd _Fillamour_?

_Fil_. I own that Name; what wou'd you, Sir?

_Cor_. Only deliver this, Signior.

[Fil. _goes aside, opens his Lanthorn, and reads_,
Jul. _and_ Gal. _talk aside_.

_Fil_. [Reads.] _I'll only tell you I am Brother to that Marcella whom
you have injured, to oblige you to meet me an Hour hence, in the_ Piazo
Despagnia: _I need not say with your Sword in your hand, since you will
there meet_ Julio Sebastiano Morosini!
--Hah! her Brother sure return'd from Travel. [_Aside_.

--Signior,--I will not fail to answer it as he desires.
[_To_ Cornelia.
I'll take this Opportunity to steal off undiscover'd.
[_Aside going out_.

_Cor_. So, I've done my Sister's Business; now for my own.

_Gal_. But, my good Friend, pray what Adventure have you been on to
night.

_Jul_. Faith, Sir, 'twas like to have prov'd a pleasant one, I came just
now from _Silvianetta_, the fair young Curtezan.

_Cor_. Hah! what said the Man--came from me! [_Aside_.

_Gal_. How, Sir, you with _Silvianetta!_ when?

_Jul_. Now, all the dear live-long Night.

_Cor_. A Pox take him, who can this be? [_Aside_.

_Gal_. This night! this night! that is not yet departed.

_Jul_. This very happy Night,--I told you I saw a lovely Woman at St.
_Peter's_ Church.

_Gal_. You did so.

_Jul_. I told you too I follow'd her home, but you'd learn neither her
Name nor Quality; but my Page getting into the acquaintance of one of
hers, brought me News of both; her Name _Silvianetta_, her Quality a
Curtezan.

_Cor_. I at Church yesterday! now hang me if I had any such devout
Thoughts about me: why, what a damn'd scandalous Rascal's this?

_Jul_. Fill'd with hopes of Success, at night I made her a Visit, and
under her Window had a skirmish with some Rival, who was then serenading
her.

_Gal_. Was't he that fought us then.--[_Aside_.--
But it seems you were not mistaken in the House--
On with your Story pray--Death, I grow jealous now--
[_Aside_.] You came at Night you said?

_Jul_. Yes, and was receiv'd at the door by the kind _Silvianetta_, who
softly whisper'd me, come to my Bosom, and be safe for ever! and
doubtless took me for some happier Man.

_Lau_. Confusion on him, 'twas my very Language! [_Aside raving_.

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