Pet. Curse of this Love! I know she’s in pursuit of this Rover, this _English_ Piece of Impudence; Pox on ’em, I know nothing good in the whole Race of ’em, but giving all to their Shirts when they’re drunk. What shall we do, _Aurelia?_ This Stranger must not be put off, nor _Carlo_ neither, who has fin’d again as if for a new Maidenhead. Aur. You are so covetous, you might have put ’em off, but now ’tis too late. Pet. Put off! Are these Fools to be put off think ye? a fine Fop _Englishman_, and an old doating Grandee?—No, I cou’d put the old trick on ’em still, had she been here but to have entertain’d ’em: but hark, one knocks, ’tis _Carlo_ on my Life— Enter _Carlo_, gives _Petronella_ Gold. Car. Let this plead for me. 183 Pet. Sweet Don, you are the most eloquent Person. Car. I would regale to night—I know it is not mine, but I’ve sent five hundred Crowns to purchase it, because I saw another bargaining for’t; and Persons of my Quality must not be refus’d: you apprehend me. Pet. Most rightly—that was the Reason then she came so out of Humour home—and is gone to Bed in such a sullen Fit. Car. To Bed, and all alone! I would surprize her there. Oh how it pleases me to think of stealing into her Arms like a fine Dream, Wench, hah. Aur. ’Twill be a pleasant one, no doubt. Pet. He lays the way out how he’ll be cozen’d. [Aside.] —The Seigniora perhaps may be angry, Sir, but I’ll venture that to accommodate you; and that you may surprize her the more readily, be pleased to stay in my Chamber, till you think she may be asleep. Car. Thou art a perfect Mistress of thy Trade. Pet. So, now will I to the Seigniora’s Bed my self, drest and perfum’d, and finish two good Works at once; earn five hundred Crowns, and keep up the Honour of the House. [Aside.] —Softly, sweet Don. [Lights him out. Aur. And I will do two more good things, and disappoint your Expectations; jilt the young _English_ Fool, and have old _Carlo_ well bang’d, if t’other have any Courage. Enter _La Nuche_ in Rage, and _Sancho_. La Nu. _Aurelia_, help, help me to be reveng’d upon this wretched unconsidering Heart. Aur. Heavens, have you made the Rover happy, Madam? La Nu. Oh wou’d I had! or that or any Sin wou’d change this Rage into some easier Passion: Sickness and Poverty, Disgrace and Pity, all met in one, were kinder than this Love, this raging Fire of a proud amorous Heart. Enter _Petronella_. Pet. Heavens, what’s the matter? Aur. Here’s _Petronella_, dissemble but your Rage a little. 184 La Nu. Damn all dissembling now, it is too late— The Tyrant Love reigns absolute within, And I am lost, _Aurelia_. Pet. How, Love! forbid it Heaven! will Love maintain ye? La Nu. Curse on your Maxims, will they ease my Heart? Can your wise Counsel fetch me back my Rover? Pet. Hah, your Rover, a Pox upon him.