_Tick_. It may be so, but I wish I had my Ring again, I do not like the giving Lesson without the taking one; why this is picking a Man’s pocket, _certo_. Sir _Sig_. Not so, Governour, for then I had had a considerable loss: Look ye here,--how--how [_feeling in his Pocket_.] how--[_in another_] how--gone? gone as I live, my Money, Governour; all the Gold _Barberacho_ receiv’d of my Merchant to day--all gone.-- _Tick_. Hah--and mine--all my stock, the Money which I thought to have made a present to the Gentlewoman, _Barberacho_ was to bring me to-- [_Aside_.]--Undone, undone--Villains, Cutpurses--Cheats, oh, run after him. Sir _Sig_. A Pox of all silent stories; Rogue, Thief--undone.-- [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. _The Corso_. _Enter_ Julio _and his_ Page. _Jul_. How, the Lady whom I followed from St. _Peter’s_ Church, a Curtezan? _Pag_. A Curtezan, my Lord, fair as the Morning, and as young. _Jul_. I know she’s fair and young; but is she to be had, Boy? _Pag_. My Lord, she is--her Footman told me she was a Zittella. _Jul_. How, a Zittella!--a Virgin, ‘tis impossible. _Pag_. I cannot swear it, Sir, but so he told me; he said she had a World of Lovers: Her name is _Silvianetta_, Sir, and her Lodgings-- _Jul_. I know’t, are on the _Corso_; a Curtezan? and a Zittella too? a pretty contradiction; but I’ll bate her the last, so I might enjoy her as the first: whate’er the price be, I’m resolv’d upon the adventure; and will this minute prepare my self. [_Going off, Enter_ Mor. and Octa.]-- hah, does the Light deceive me, or is that indeed my Uncle, in earnest conference with a Cavalier?--’tis he--I’ll step aside till he’s past, lest he hinders this Night’s diversion. [_Goes aside_. _Mor_. I say ‘twas rashly done, to fight him unexamin’d. _Oct_. I need not ask; my Reason has inform’d me, and I’m convinc’d, where-e’er he has concealed her, that she is fled with _Fillamour_. _Jul_. Who is’t they speak of? _Mor_. Well, well, sure my Ancestors committed some horrid crime against Nature, that she sent this Pest of Woman-kind into our Family,--two Nieces for my share;--by Heaven, a Proportion sufficient to undo six Generations. _Jul_. Hah? two Nieces, what of them? [_Aside_. _Mor_. I am like to give a blessed account of ‘em to their Brother _Julio_ my Nephew, at his return; there’s a new plague now:--but my comfort is, I shall be mad, and there’s an end on’t. [_Weeps_. _Jul_. My Curiosity must be satisfied,--have patience, Noble Sir.-- _Mor_. Patience is a flatterer, Sir,--and an Ass, Sir; and I’ll have none on’t--hah, what art thou? _Jul_. Has five or six Years made ye lose the remembrance of your Nephew--_Julio_? _Mor. Julio!_ I wou’d I had met thee going to thy Grave. [_Weeps_. _Jul_. Why so, Sir?