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. 173 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 of Love. La Nu. Hah, what says he? [Aside. Will. How, a Maid, and young, and to be marry’d too! a rare Wench this to contrive Matters so conveniently: Oh, for some Mischief now to send him neatly off. [Aside. Beau. Now you are silent; but you could talk to day loudly of Virtue, and upbraid my Vice: oh how you hated a young keeping Husband, whom neither Beauty nor Honour in a Wife cou’d oblige to reason—oh, damn your Honour, ’tis that’s the sly pretence of all your domineering insolent Wives—Death—what didst thou see in me, should make thee think that I would be a tame contented Cuckold? [Going, she holds him. La Nu. I must not lose this lavish loving Fool— [Aside. Will. So, I hope he will be civil and withdraw, and leave me in possession— Beau. No, tho my Fortune should depend on thee; nay, all my hope of future happiness—by Heaven, I scorn to marry thee, unless thou couldst convince me thou wer’t honest—a Whore!—Death, how it cools my Blood— Will. And fires mine extremely— La Nu. Nay, then I am provok’d tho I spoil all— [Aside. And is a Whore a thing so much despis’d? Turn back, thou false forsworn—turn back, and blush at thy mistaken folly. [He stands amaz’d. Beau. _La Nuche!_ 174 Enter _Aria._ peeping, advancing cautiously undrest, _Luc._ following. Aria. Oh, he is here—_Lucia_, attend me in the Orange-grove— [Ex. _Lucia_. Hah, a Woman with him!