first I'll try my Fortune
with this Woman-- let me see-- hereabouts is the Door.
[Gropes about for the Door.

Enter _Beaumond_, follow'd by _La Nuche_, and _Sancho_.

_La Nu._ 'Tis he, I know it by his often and uneasy pauses--

_Beau._ And shall I home and sleep upon my injury, whilst this more
happy Rover takes my right away?-- no, damn me then for a cold senseless
Coward.
[Pauses and pulls out a Key.

_Will._ This Damsel, by the part o'th' Town she lives in, shou'd be of
Quality, and therefore can have no dishonest design on me, it must be
right down substantial Love, that's certain.

_Beau._ Yet I'll in and arm my self for the Encounter, for 'twill be
rough between us, tho we're Friends.
[Groping about, finds the Door.

_Will._ Oh, 'tis this I'm sure, because the Door is open.

_Beau._ Hah-- who's there?--
[_Beau._ advances to unlock the Door, runs against _Will._ draws.

_Will._ That Voice is of Authority, some Husband, Lover, or a Brother,
on my Life-- this is a Nation of a word and a blow, therefore I'll
betake me to _Toledo_--
[Draws.
[_Willmore_ in drawing hits his Sword against that of _Beaumond_,
who turns and fights, _La Nuche_ runs into the Garden frighted.

_Beau._ Hah, are you there?

_Sanc._ I'll draw in defence of the Captain--
[_Sancho_ fights for _Beau._ and beats out _Will._

_Will._ Hah, two to one? [Turns and goes in.

_Beau._ The Garden Door clapt to; sure he's got in; nay, then I have him
sure.

The Scene changes to a Garden, _La Nuche_ in it, to her _Beau._ who
takes hold of her sleeve.

_La Nu._ Heavens, where am I?

_Beau._ Hah-- a Woman! and by these Jewels-- should be _Ariadne_.
[feels.] 'Tis so! Death, are all Women false?
[She struggles to get away, he holds her.
--Oh,'tis in vain thou fly'st, thy Infamy will stay behind thee still.

_La Nu._ Hah, 'tis _Beaumond's_ Voice!-- Now for an Art to turn the
trick upon him; I must not lose his Friendship.
[Aside.

Enter _Willmore_ softly, peeping behind.

_Will._ What a Devil have we here, more Mischief yet;-- hah-- my Woman
with a Man-- I shall spoil all-- I ever had an excellent knack of doing
so.

_Beau._ Oh Modesty, where art thou? Is this the effect of all your put
on Jealousy, that Mask to hide your own new falshood in? New!-- by
Heaven, I believe thou'rt old in cunning, that couldst contrive, so near
thy Wedding-night, this, to deprive me of the Rites o