Volume I Part 56 (1/2)

_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-- where, oh what shall I do?-- my Clothes, my Sword and Money.

_Aur._ Quickly, _Sancho_, tie a Sheet to the Window, and let him slide down by that-- Be speedy, and we'll throw your Clothes out after ye.

Here, follow me to the Window.

_Feth._ Oh, any whither, any whither. That I could not be warn'd from whoring in a strange Country, by my Friend _Ned Blunt's_ Example-- if I can but keep it secret now, I care not.

[Exeunt.

Scene, the Street, a Sheet tyd to the Balcony, and _Feth._ sitting cross to slide down.

_Feth._ So-- now your Neck, or your Throat, chuse ye either, wise Mr.

_Nicholas Fetherfool_-- But stay, I hear Company. Now dare not I budg an Inch.

Enter _Beaumond_ alone.

_Beau._ Where can this Rascal, my Page, be all this while? I waited in the Piazza so long, that I believed he had mistook my Order, and gone directly to _La Nuche's_ House-- but here's no sign of him--

_Feth._ Hah-- I hear no noise, I'll venture down.

[Goes halfway down and stops.

Enter _Abevile_, _Harlequin_, Musick and _Willmore_.

_Will._ Whither will this Boy conduct me?-- but since to a Woman, no matter whither 'tis.

_Feth._ Hah, more Company; now dare not I stir up nor down, they may be Bravoes to cut my Throat.