_Pet_. Well, Signior, of a bad turn it was a good one, that he took you for Sir _Signal_! the Scandal lies at his door now Sir,--so the Ladder’s fast, you may now mount and away.-- _Tick_. Very well, go your ways, and commend me, honest _Barberacho_, to the young Gentlewoman, and let her know, as soon as I may be certain to run no hazard in my Reputation, I’ll visit her again. _Pet_. I’ll warrant ye, Signior, for the future. _Tick_. So, now get you gone lest we be discover’d. _Pet_. Farewel, Signior, _a bon viage_. [_Ex_. Pet. Tick, _descends_. _Tick_. ‘Tis marvellous dark, and I have lost my Lanthorn in the fray! [_Groping_.] --hah--whereabouts am I--hum--what have we here!--ah, help, help, help! [_Stumbles_ _at the Well, gets hold of the Rope, and slides down in the Bucket_.] I shall be drown’d, Fire, Fire, Fire! for I have Water enough! Oh, for some House,--some Street; nay, wou’d _Rome_ it-self were a second time in flames, that my Deliverance might be wrought by the necessity for Water: but no human Help is nigh--oh! _Enter Sir_ Sig. _as before_. Sir _Sig_. Did ever any Knight-Adventurer run through so many Disasters in one night! my worshipful Carcase has been cudgel’d most plentifully, first bang’d for a Coward, which by the way was none of my Fault, I cannot help Nature: then claw’d away for a _Diavillo_, there I was the Fool; but who can help that too? frighted with _Gal’s_ coming into an Ague; then chimney’d into a Fever, where I had a fine Regale of Soot, a Perfume which nothing but my _Cackamarda Orangate_ cou’d exceell; and which I find by [_snuffs_] my smelling has defac’d Nature’s Image, and a second time made me be suspected for a Devil.--let me see--[_Opens his Lanthorn, and looks on his Hands_.] ‘tis so--I am in a cleanly Pickle: if my Face be of the same Hue, I am fit to scare away old _Beelzebub_ himself, i’faith: [_Wipes his Face_.]--ay, ‘tis so, like to like, quoth the Devil to the Collier: well I’ll home, scrub my self clean if possible, get me to Bed, devise a handsom Lye to excuse my long stay to my Governour, and all’s well, and the Man has his Mare again. [_Shuts his Lanthorn and gropes away, runs against the Well.--Quequesto (feels gently.)_] Make me thankful ‘tis substantial Wood, by your leave-- [_Opens his Lanthorn_.] How! a Well! sent by Providence that I may wash my self, lest People smoke me by the scent, and beat me a-new for stinking: [_Sets down his Lanthorn, pulls of his Masking-Coat, and goes to draw Water_.] ‘Tis a damnable heavy Bucket! now do I fancy I shall look, when I am washing my self, like the sign of the Labour-in-vain. _Tick_. So, my cry is gone forth, and I am delivered by Miracle from this Dungeon of Death and Darkness, this cold Element of Destruction-- Sir _Sig_. Hah--sure I heard a dismal hollow Voice. [Tick. _appears in the Bucket above the Well_. _Tick_. What, art thou come in Charity?