Sir _Sig_. Ah, _le Diavilo, le Diavilo, le Diavilo_. [_Lets go the Bucket, and is running frighted away_. _Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Page, _he returns_. --How, a Man! was ever wretched Wight so miserable, the Devil at one hand, and a _Roman_ Night-walker at the other; which danger shall I chuse? [_Gets to the door of the House_. _Tick_. So, I am got up at last--thanks to my Knight, for I am sure ‘twas he! hah, he’s here--I’ll hear his Business. [_Goes near to_ Fillamour. _Fil_. Confound this Woman, this bewitching Woman: I cannot shake her from my sullen Heart; Spite of my Soul I linger hereabouts, and cannot to _Viterbo_. _Tick_. Very good; a dainty Rascal this! _Enter_ Galliard _with a Lanthorn, as from_ Silvia’s _House, held by_ Philippa. _Fil_.--Hah, who’s this coming from her House? Perhaps ‘tis _Galliard_. _Gal_. No Argument shall fetch me back, by Heaven. _Fil_. ‘Tis the mad Rogue. _Tick_. Oh Lord, ‘tis _Galliard_, and angry too; now cou’d I but get off, and leave Sir _Signal_ to be beaten, ‘twere a rare project--but ‘tis impossible without discovery. _Phil_. But will you hear her, Signior? _Gal_. That is, will I lose more time about her? Plague on’t, I have thrown away already such Songs and Sonnets, such Madrigals and Posies, such Night-walks, Sighs, and direful Lovers looks, as wou’d have mollify’d any Woman of Conscience and Religion; and now to be popt i’th’ mouth with Quality! Well, if ever you catch me lying with any but honest well-meaning Damsels hereafter, hang me:--farewel, old Secret, farewel. [_Ex_. Philippa. --Now am I asham’d of being cozen’d so damnably, _Fillamour_, that virtuous Rascal, will so laugh at me; s’heart, cou’d I but have debaucht him, we had been on equal terms.--but I must help my self with lying, and swear I have--a-- _Fil_. You shall not need, I’ll keep your Counsel, Sir. _Gal_. Hah--_estes vous la_?-- _Tick_. How, _Fillamour_ all this while! some Comfort yet, I am not the only Professor that dissembles: but how to get away-- _Gal_. Oh _Harry_, the most damnably defeated! [_A Noise of Swords_. _Fil_. Hold! what Noise is that? two Men coming this way as from the house of the Curtezans. _Enter_ Julio _backwards, fighting_ Octavio _and Bravoes_. _Gal_. Hah, on retreating,--S’death, I’ve no Sword! _Fil_. Here’s one, I’ll take my Page’s. [_Takes the Boy’s Sword_. _Gal_. Now am I mad for mischief; here, hold my Lanthorn, Boy. [_They fight on_ Julio’s _side, and fight_ Octavio _out at t’other side: Enter_ Laura _and_ Sabina _at the Fore-door, which is the same where Sir_ Signal _stands:_ Tick. _groping up that way, finds Sir_ Sig. _just entring in;_ Laura _and_ Sab. _pass over the Stage_.