_Aur._ Where art thou now, _Aurelia_? How wilt thou 'scape that dreadful Precipice, On which thou art hurried on by thy fatal Passion? With conscious Horror I deceiv'd _Alonzo_; I hate this base Treachery, but 'twas unavoidable: The Truth had been more fatal---- More fatal!----No----For I must never wed My dear _Bassino_, whilst _Alonzo_ lives. Oh! the distracting Thought! what shall I do? Why! die _Aurelia_: That's the only Way, To keep thy Vows to both--Ha----die, said I? But whether then? who knows what Punishment, Just Heav'n prepares for guilty Souls like mine. But I must think no more, lest I grow mad with Thought, If there's a Power that guards us here below, Oh! look with pitying Eyes on poor _Aurelia_: Appease the Tumults of my anxious Fear, And load me with no more than I can bear. [_Exeunt_ Aurelia, Florella. SCENE II. _Lady_ Pizalta's _Lodgings_. _Enter Lady_ Pizalta, Lucy. L. _Piz._ Well, thou'rt an admirable Girl! What would half the Ladies in _Venice_ give for such a Servant? _Lucy._ (_Aside._) Truly you have Reason to say so, for 'tis not the first Intrigue I have manag'd for you----Oh! dear Madam, your Ladyship does me too much Honour----But how do you like your new Servant, Madam? L. _Piz._ Oh! above all Men living, _Lucy_: He has the most bewitching Conversation I ever met with----Say, is there no way to contrive a second Meeting? For I'm impatient till I see the dear Man again----The End of the Carnival draws near, which is indeed the End of Life to me: For then must I be coop'd up with Age: Condemned to an eternal Coughing, Spitting, Snoring and Ill-nature----Then let me make the best of Life----since Hell cannot have a worse Plague in Store than I have felt already. _Luc._ Indeed, Madam, I pity you: And wish 'twere in my Power to free you from this old wither'd Log, but tho' that's impossible, yet I may do you some little Services to make Life's tedious Journey pleasant----Let me see, I have it----What would you say now, Madam, if I should contrive a Way to have your Lover in your own Chamber? L. _Piz._ That were worth a King's Revenue----Speak, quickly, how, how, good _Lucy_? _Luc._ Why, thus: He shall put on my Cloaths, and in my Place attend you. L. _Piz._ Rare Contrivance! but my Husband, _Lucy_? _Luc._ Oh! let me alone, Madam, to manage him: He is defective in Sight, you know; and not mistrusting any thing, will not be over curious: But if he should, I have a way to bring you off----My Life on't----This Plot may be of Use to my design, I'll manage it with care. [_Aside._