_Tick_. A Man! now am I, though an old Sinner, as timorous as a young Thief: ‘tis a great inconvenience in these Popish Countrys, that a man cannot have liberty to steal to a Wench without danger; not that I need fear who sees me except _Galliard_, who suspecting my business, will go near to think I am wickedly inclin’d. Sir _Signal_ I have left hard at his Study, and Sir _Henry_ is no nocturnal Inamorato, unless like me he dissemble it.--Well, _certo_, ‘tis a wonderful pleasure to deceive the World: And as a learned Man well observ’d, that the Sin of Wenching lay in the Habit only; I having laid that aside, _Timothy Tickletext_, principal Holder-forth of the _Covent-Garden_ Conventicle, Chaplain of _Buffoon-Hall_ in the County of _Kent_, is free to recreate himself. _Enter_ Gal. _with a dark Lanthorn_. _Gal_. Where the Devil is this _Fillamour?_ and the Mufick? which way cou’d he go to lose me thus? [_Looks towards the Door_. --He is not yet come-- _Tick_. Not yet come--that must be _Barberacho!_-- Where are ye, honest _Barberacho_, where are ye? [_Groping towards_ Gal. _Gal_. Hah! _Barberacho?_ that Name I am sure is us’d by none but Sir _Signal_ and his Coxcomb Tutor; it must be one of those--Where are ye, Signior, where are ye? [_Goes towards him, and opens the Lanthorn--and shuts it strait_. --Oh, ‘tis the Knight,--are you there, Signior? _Tick_. Oh, art thou come, honest Rascal--conduct me quickly, conduct me to the beautiful and fair _Silvianetta_. [_Gives him his Hand_. _Gal_. Yes, when your Dogship’s damn’d. _Silvianetta!_ Sdeath, is she a Whore for Fools? [_Draws_. _Tick_. Hah, Mr. _Galliard_, as the Devil would have it;--I’m undone if he sees me. [_He retires hastily_, Gal. _gropes for him_. _Gal_. Where are you, Fop? Buffoon! Knight! [Tickletext _retiring hastily runs against_ Octavio, _who is just entering, almost beats him down_; Oct. _strikes him a good blow, beats him back and draws_: Tick, _gets close up in a corner of the Stage_; Oct. _gropes for him, as_ Gal. _does, and both meet and fight with each other_. --What, dare you draw,--you have the impudence to be valiant then in the dark, [_they pass_.] I wou’d not kill the Rogue,--’Sdeath, you can fight then, when there’s a Woman in the case! _Oct_. I hope ‘tis _Fillarnour_; [_Aside_.] You’ll find I can, and possibly may spoil your making Love to night. _Gal_. Egad, Sweet-heart, and that may be, one civil Thrust will do’t;-- and ‘twere a damn’d rude thing to disappoint so fine a Woman,--therefore I’ll withdraw whilst I’m well. [_He slips out_. _Enter Sir_ Signal, _with a Masquerading Coat over his Clothes, without a Wig or Crevat, with a dark Lanthorn_.