uche_, I take it: If she be awake, I'll let her know who I am;
if not, I'll steal a Joy before she thinks of it.

_Feth._ Sure 'tis she, pretty modest Rogue, she comes i'th' dark to hide
her Blushes-- hum, I'm plaguy eloquent o'th' sudden-- who's there?
[Whispering.

_Car._ 'Tis I, my Love.

_Feth._ Hah, sweet Soul, make haste.-- There 'twas again.

_Car._ So kind, sure she takes me for some other, or has some inkling of
my Design--
[To himself.
Where are you, Sweetest?

_Feth._ Here, my Love, give me your Hand--

_Puts out his Hand; _Carlo_ kneels and kisses it._

_Car._ Here let me worship the fair Shrine before I dare approach so
fair a Saint.
[Kisses the Hand.

_Feth._ Hah, what a Pox have we here?-- wou'd I were well out o' t'other
side-- perhaps-- 'tis her Husband, and then I'm a dead Man, if I'm
discover'd.
[Removes to t'other side, _Carlo_ holds his Hand.

_Car._ Nay, do not fly-- I know you took me for some happier Person.
[_Feth._ struggles, _Car._ rises and takes him in his Arms, and
kisses him.

_Feth._ What, will you ravish me? [In a shrill Voice.

_Car._ Hah, that Voice is not _La Nuche's_-- Lights there, Lights.

_Feth._ Nay, I can hold a bearded _Venus_, Sir, as well as any Man.
[Holds _Carlo_.

_Car._ What art thou, Rogue, Villain, Slave?
[They fall to Cuffs, and fight till they are bloody, fall from the
Bed and fight on the Floor.

Enter _Petronella_, _Sancho_, and _Aurelia_.

_Pet._ Heaven, what noise is this?-- we are undone, part 'em, _Sancho_.
[They part 'em.

_Feth._ Give me my Sword; nay, give me but a Knife, that I may cut yon
Fellow's Throat--

_Car._ Sirrah, I'm a Grandee, and a _Spaniard_, and will be reveng'd.

_Feth._ And I'm an _English-man_, and a Justice, and will have Law, Sir.

_Pet._ Say 'tis her Husband, or any thing to get him hence.
[Aside to _Sancho_, who whispers him.
These _English_, Sir, are Devils, and on my Life 'tis unknown to the
Seigniora that he's i'th' House.
[To _Carlo_ aside.

_Car._ Come, I'm abus'd, but I must put it up for fear of my Honour;
a Statesman's Reputation is a tender thing: Convey me out the back way.
I'll be reveng'd.
[Goes out.

_Feth._ (_Aurelia_ whispers to him aside.) How, her Husband! Prithee
convey me out; my Clothes, my Clothes, quickly--

_Aur._ Out, Sir! he has lock'd the Door, and designs to have ye
murder'd.

_Feth._ Oh, gentle Soul-- take pity on me