Sir _Sig_. Well, I have most neatly escap’d my Tutor; and in this disguise defy the Devil to claim his own.--Ah, _Caspeto de Deavilo_;-- What’s that? [_Advancing softly, and groping with his hands, meets the point of_ Oct. _Sword, as he is groping for_ Gal. _Oct_. Traitor, darest thou not stand my Sword? Sir _Sig_. Hah! Swords! no, Signior--_scusa mea_, Signioir,-- [_Hops to the door: And feeling for his way with his out-stretcht Arms, runs his Lanthorn in_ Julio’s _face, who is just entring; finds he’s oppos’d with a good push backward, and slips aside into a corner over-against_ Tickletext; Julio _meets_ Octavio, _and fights him_; Oct. _falls_, Julio _opens his Lanthorn, and sees his mistake_. _Jut_. Is it you, Sir? _Oct_. _Julio_! From what Mistake grew all this Violence? _Jul_. That I shou’d ask of you, who meet you arm’d against me. _Oct_. I find the Night has equally deceiv’d us; and you are fitly come to share with me the hopes of dear Revenge. [_Gropes for his Lanthorn, which is dropt_. _Jul_. I’d rather have pursu’d my kinder Passion, Love, and Desire, that brought me forth to night. _Oct_. I’ve learnt where my false Rival is to be this Evening; And if you’ll join your Sword, you’ll find it well employ’d. _Jul_. Lead on, I’m as impatient of Revenge as you.-- _Oct_. Come this way then, you’ll find more Aids to serve us. [_Go out_. _Tick_.--So! Thanks be prais’d, all’s still again, this Fright were enough to mortify any Lover of less magnanimity than my self.--Well, of all Sins, this itch of Whoring is the most hardy,--the most impudent in Repulses, the most vigilant in watching, most patient in waiting, most frequent in Dangers; in all Disasters but Disappointment, a Philosopher; yet if _Barberacho_ come not quickly, my Philosophy will be put to’t, _certo_. [_This while Sir_ Signal _is venturing from his Post, listening, and slowly advancing towards the middle of the Stage_. Sir _Sig_. The Coast is once more clear, and I may venture my Carcase forth again,--though such a Salutation as the last, wou’d make me very unfit for the matter in hand.--The Battoon I cou’d bear with the Fortitude and Courage of a Hero: But these dangerous Sharps I never lov’d. What different Rencounters have I met withal to night, _Corpo de me_? A Man may more safely pass the Gulf of _Lyons_, than convoy himself into a Baudy-House in _Rome_; but I hope all’s past, and I will say with _Alexander,--Vivat Esperance en despetto del Fatto_. [_Advances a little_. _Tick_. Sure I heard a noise;--No, ‘twas only my surmise.