Car. This Wench stays long, and Love’s impatient; this is the Chamber of _La Nuche_, I take it: If she be awake, I’ll let her know who I am; if not, I’ll steal a Joy before she thinks of it. Feth. Sure ’tis she, pretty modest Rogue, she comes i’th’ dark to hide her Blushes—hum, I’m plaguy eloquent o’th’ sudden—who’s there? [Whispering. Car. ’Tis I, my Love. Feth. Hah, sweet Soul, make haste.—There ’twas again. 186 Car. So kind, sure she takes me for some other, or has some inkling of my Design— [To himself. Where are you, Sweetest? Feth. Here, my Love, give me your Hand— [Puts out his Hand; _Carlo_ kneels and kisses it. Car. Here let me worship the fair Shrine before I dare approach so fair a Saint. [Kisses the Hand. Feth. Hah, what a Pox have we here?—wou’d I were well out o’ t’other side—perhaps—’tis her Husband, and then I’m a dead Man, if I’m discover’d. [Removes to t’other side, _Carlo_ holds his Hand. Car. Nay, do not fly—I know you took me for some happier Person. [_Feth._ struggles, _Car._ rises and takes him in his Arms, and kisses him. Feth. What, will you ravish me? [In a shrill Voice. Car. Hah, that Voice is not _La Nuche’s_—Lights there, Lights. Feth. Nay, I can hold a bearded _Venus_, Sir, as well as any Man. [Holds _Carlo_. Car. What art thou, Rogue, Villain, Slave? [They fall to Cuffs, and fight till they are bloody, fall from the Bed and fight on the Floor. Enter _Petronella_, _Sancho_, and _Aurelia_. 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. 187 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.