_Gal_. Virtue! ‘S’death thou art always fumbling upon that dull string that makes no Musick.--What Letter’s that? [_Reads_.] If the first Confession I ever made of Love be grateful to you, come arm’d to night with a Friend or two; and behind the Garden of the Fountains, you will receive--hah, _Marcella!_--Oh, damn it, from your honest Woman!--Well, I see the Devil’s never so busy with a Man, as when he has resolv’d upon any Goodness! S’death, what a rub’s here in a fair cast,--how is’t man? Alegremente! bear up, defy him and all his Works. _Fil_. But I have sworn, sworn that I lov’d _Marcella;_ And Honour, Friend, obliges me to go, Take her away and marry her. --And I conjure thee to assist me too. _Gal_. What, to night, this might, that I have given to _Silvianetta!_ and you have promis’d to the fair--_Euphemia!_ _Lau_. If he shou’d go, he ruins my design, [_Aside_. --Nay, if your word, Sir--be already past-- _Fil_. ‘Tis true, I gave my promise to _Euphemia;_ but that, to Women of her Trade, is easily absolv’d. _Gal_. Men keep not Oaths for the sakes of the wise Magistrates to whom they are made, but their own Honour, _Harry_.--And is’t not much a greater crime to rob a gallant, hospitable Man of his Niece, who has treated you with Confidence and Friendship, than to keep touch with a well-meaning Whore, my conscientious Friend? _Lau_. Infinite degrees, Sir. _Gal_. Besides, thou’st an hour or two good, between this and the time requir’d to meet _Marcella_. _Lau_. Which an industrious Lover would manage to the best advantage. _Gal_. That were not given over to Virtue and Constancy; two the best excuses I know for Idleness. _Fil_.--Yes--I may see this Woman. _Gal_. Why, Gad-a-mercy, Lad. _Fil_.--And break my Chains, if possible. _Gal_. Thou wilt give a good essay to that I’ll warrant thee, Before she part with thee; come let’s about it. [_They are going out on either side of_ Fil. _persuading him_. _Mar_. He’s gone, the Curtezan has got the day, [_Aside_. Vice has the start of Virtue every way; And for one Blessing honest Wives obtain, The happier Mistress does a thousand gain. I’ll home--and practise all their Art to prove, That nothing is so cheaply gain’d as Love. [_Exit_. _Gal_. Stay, what Farce is this--prithee let’s see a little. [_Offering to go_. [_Enter Sir_ Signal, _Mr_. Tickletext, _with his Cloke ty’d about him, a great Inkhorn ty’d at his Girdle and a great folio under his Arm_, Petro _drest like an Antiquary_. --How now, Mr. _Tickletext_, what, drest as if you were going a Pilgrimage to _Jerusalem?_ _Tick_. I make no such profane Journeys, Sir. _Gal_. But where have you been, Mr. _Tickletext?_ Sir _Sig_. Why, Sir, this most Reverend and Renowned Antiquary has been showing us Monumental Rarities and Antiquities. _Gal_. ‘Tis _Petro_, that Rogue.