neither
Morayma, nor the Mufti's daughter.

_Ant._ Nay, I know not that: but I am sure he is old enough to be your
father; and either father, or reverend father, I heard you call him.

_Joh._ Once again, how came you to name Morayma?

_Ant._ Another damned mistake of mine: for, asking one of my
fellow-slaves, who were the chief ladies about the house, he answered
me, Morayma and Johayma; but she, it seems, is his daughter, with a
pox to her, and you are his beloved wife.

_Joh._ Say your beloved mistress, if you please; for that's the title
I desire. This moonshine grows offensive to my eyes; come, shall we
walk into the arbour? there we may rectify all mistakes.

_Ant._ That's close and dark.

_Joh._ And are those faults to lovers?

_Ant._ But there I cannot please myself with the sight of your beauty.

_Joh._ Perhaps you may do better.

_Ant._ But there's not a breath of air stirring.

_Joh._ The breath of lovers is the sweetest air; but you are fearful.

_Ant._ I am considering indeed, that, if I am taken with you--

_Joh._ The best way to avoid it is to retire, where we may not be
discovered.

_Ant._ Where lodges your husband?

_Joh._ Just against the face of this open walk.

_Ant._ Then he has seen us already, for aught I know.

_Joh._ You make so many difficulties, I fear I am displeasing to you.

_Ant._ [_Aside._] If Morayma comes, and takes me in the arbour with
her, I have made a fine exchange of that diamond for this pebble.

_Joh._ You are much fallen off, let me tell you, from the fury of your
first embrace.

_Ant._ I confess I was somewhat too furious at first, but you will
forgive the transport of my passion; now I have considered it better,
I have a qualm of conscience.

_Joh._ Of conscience! why, what has conscience to do with two young
lovers that have opportunity?

_Ant._ Why, truly, conscience is something to blame for interposing in
our matters: but how can I help it, if I have a scruple to betray my
master?

_Joh._ There must be something more in't; for your conscience was very
quiet when you took me for Morayma.

_Ant._ I grant you, madam, when I took you for his daughter; for then
I might have made you an honourable amends by marriage.

_Joh._ You Christians are such peeking sinners! you tremble at a
shadow in the moonshine.

_Ant._ And you Africans are such termagants, you stop at nothing. I
must be plain with you,--you are married, and to a holy man, the head
of