Scene changes to _Blunt’s_ Chamber, discovers him sitting on a Couch in his Shirt and Drawers, reading. Blunt. So, now my Mind’s a little at Peace, since I have resolv’d Revenge—A Pox on this Taylor tho, for not bringing home the Clothes I bespoke; and a Pox of all poor Cavaliers, a Man can never keep a spare Suit for ’em; and I shall have these Rogues come in and find me naked; and then I’m undone; but I’m resolv’d to arm my self—the Rascals shall not insult over me too much. [Puts on an old rusty Sword and Buff-Belt. —Now, how like a Morrice-Dancer I am equipt—a fine Lady-like Whore to cheat me thus, without affording me a Kindness for my Money, a Pox light on her, I shall never be reconciled to the Sex more, she has made me as faithless as a Physician, as uncharitable as a Churchman, and as ill-natur’d as a Poet. O how I’ll use all Women-kind hereafter! what wou’d I give to have one of ’em 82 within my reach now! any Mortal thing in Petticoats, kind Fortune, send me; and I’ll forgive thy last Night’s Malice—Here’s a cursed Book too, (a Warning to all young Travellers) that can instruct me how to prevent such Mischiefs now ’tis too late. Well ’tis a rare convenient thing to read a little now and then, as well as hawk and hunt. [Sits down again and reads. Enter to him _Florinda_. Flor. This House is haunted sure,’tis well furnisht and no living thing inhabits it—hah—a Man! Heavens how he’s attir’d! sure ’tis some Rope-dancer, or Fencing-Master; I tremble now for fear, and yet I must venture now to speak to him—Sir, if I may not interrupt your Meditations— [He starts up and gazes. Blunt. Hah—what’s here? Are my wishes granted? and is not that a she Creature? Adsheartlikins ’tis! what wretched thing art thou—hah! Flor. Charitable Sir, you’ve told your self already what I am; a very wretched Maid, forc’d by a strange unlucky Accident, to seek a safety here, and must be ruin’d, if you do not grant it. Blunt. Ruin’d! Is there any Ruin so inevitable as that which now threatens thee? Dost thou know, miserable Woman, into what Den of Mischiefs thou art fall’n? what a Bliss of Confusion?—hah—dost not see something in my looks that frights thy guilty Soul, and makes thee wish to change that Shape of Woman for any humble Animal, or Devil? for those were safer for thee, and less mischievous. Flor. Alas, what mean you, Sir? I must confess your Looks have something in ’em makes me fear; but I beseech you, as you seem a Gentleman, pity a harmless Virgin, that takes your House for Sanctuary. Blunt. Talk on, talk on, and weep too, till my faith return. Do, flatter me out of my Senses again—a harmless 83 Virgin with a Pox, as much one as t’other, adsheartlikins. Why, what the Devil can I not be safe in my House for you? not in my Chamber? nay, even being naked too cannot secure me. This is an Impudence greater than has invaded me yet.—Come, no Resistance. [Pulls her rudely. Flor. Dare you be so cruel?