ape.-- _Belvile_, I conjure you to walk under my
Chamber-window, from whence I'll give you some instructions what to
do-- This rude Man has undone us.
[Exit.

_Will._ _Belvile!_

Enter _Pedro_, _Stephano_, and other Servants with Lights.

_Ped._ I'm betray'd; run, _Stephano_, and see if _Florinda_ be safe.
[Exit _Steph._

So whoe'er they be, all is not well, I'll to _Florinda's_ Chamber.
[They fight, and _Pedro's_ Party beats 'em out; going out, meets
_Stephano_.

_Steph._ You need not, Sir, the poor Lady's fast asleep, and thinks no
harm: I wou'd not wake her, Sir, for fear of frightning her with your
danger.

_Ped._ I'm glad she's there-- Rascals, how came the Garden-Door open?

_Steph._ That Question comes too late, Sir: some of my Fellow-Servants
Masquerading I'll warrant.

_Ped._ Masquerading! a leud Custom to debauch our Youth-- there's
something more in this than I imagine.
[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. _Changes to the Street._

Enter _Belvile_ in Rage, _Fred._ holding him, and _Willmore_
melancholy.

_Will._ Why, how the Devil shou'd I know _Florinda_?

_Belv._ Ah plague of your ignorance! if it had not been _Florinda_, must
you be a Beast?-- a Brute, a senseless Swine?

_Will._ Well, Sir, you see I am endu'd with Patience-- I can bear-- tho
egad y're very free with me methinks,-- I was in good hopes the Quarrel
wou'd have been on my side, for so uncivilly interrupting me.

_Belv._ Peace, Brute, whilst thou'rt safe-- oh, I'm distracted.

_Will._ Nay, nay, I'm an unlucky Dog, that's certain.

_Belv._ Ah curse upon the Star that rul'd my Birth! or whatsoever other
Influence that makes me still so wretched.

_Will._ Thou break'st my Heart with these Complaints; there is no Star
in fault, no Influence but Sack, the cursed Sack I drank.

_Fred._ Why, how the Devil came you so drunk?

_Will._ Why, how the Devil came you so sober?

_Belv._ A curse upon his thin Skull, he was always before-hand that way.

_Fred._ Prithee, dear Colonel, forgive him, he's sorry for his fault.

_Belv._ He's always so after he has done a mischief-- a plague on all
such Brutes.

_Will._ By this Light I took her for an errant Harlot.

_Belv._ Damn your debaucht Opinion: tell me, Sot, hadst thou so much
sense and light about thee to distinguish her to be a Woman, and
could'st not see something about her Face and Person, to strike an awful
Reverence into thy Soul?

_Will._ Faith no, I co