Flor. Help, help,—Murder!—help—oh, I’m ruin’d. Belv. Ha, sure that’s _Florinda’s_ Voice. [Comes up to them. —A Man! Villain, let go that Lady.[A noise. [_Will._ turns and draws, _Fred._ interposes. Flor. _Belvile!_ Heavens! my Brother too is coming, and ’twill be impossible to escape.—_Belvile_, I conjure you to walk under my Chamber-window, from whence I’ll give you some instructions what to do—This rude Man has undone us. [Exit. Will. _Belvile!_ Enter _Pedro_, _Stephano_, and other Servants with Lights. Ped. I’m betray’d; run, _Stephano_, and see if _Florinda_ be safe. [Exit _Steph._ So whoe’er they be, all is not well, I’ll to _Florinda’s_ Chamber. [They fight, and _Pedro’s_ Party beats ’em out; going out, meets _Stephano_. 59 Steph. You need not, Sir, the poor Lady’s fast asleep, and thinks no harm: I wou’d not wake her, Sir, for fear of frightning her with your danger. Ped. I’m glad she’s there—Rascals, how came the Garden-Door open? Steph. That Question comes too late, Sir: some of my Fellow-Servants Masquerading I’ll warrant. Ped. Masquerading! a leud Custom to debauch our Youth—there’s something more in this than I imagine. [Exeunt. Scene IV. Changes to the Street. Enter _Belvile_ in Rage, _Fred._ holding him, and _Willmore_ melancholy. Will. Why, how the Devil shou’d I know _Florinda?_ Belv. Ah plague of your ignorance! if it had not been _Florinda_, must you be a Beast?—a Brute, a senseless Swine? Will. Well, Sir, you see I am endu’d with Patience—I can bear—tho egad y’re very free with me methinks,—I was in good hopes the Quarrel wou’d have been on my side, for so uncivilly interrupting me. Belv. Peace, Brute, whilst thou’rt safe—oh, I’m distracted. Will. Nay, nay, I’m an unlucky Dog, that’s certain. Belv. Ah curse upon the Star that rul’d my Birth! or whatsoever other Influence that makes me still so wretched. Will. Thou break’st my Heart with these Complaints; there is no Star in fault, no Influence but Sack, the cursed Sack I drank. Fred. Why, how the Devil came you so drunk? Will. Why, how the Devil came you so sober? Belv. A curse upon his thin Skull, he was always before-hand that way. Fred. Prithee, dear Colonel, forgive him, he’s sorry for his fault. 60 Belv. He’s always so after he has done a mischief—a plague on all such Brutes. Will. By this Light I took her for an errant Harlot. Belv. Damn your debaucht Opinion: tell me, Sot, hadst thou so much sense and light about thee to distinguish her to be a Woman, and could’st not see something about her Face and Person, to strike an awful Reverence into thy Soul? Will. Faith no, I consider’d her as mere a Woman as I could wish. Belv. ’Sdeath I have no patience—draw, or I’ll kill you. Will. Let that alone till to morrow, and if I set not all right again, use your Pleasure.