_Gal_. Death, Madam! do not scare away my Love with Tales of Ghosts, and Fancies of the Dead. I’ll give ye Proofs I’m living loving Man, as errant an amorous Mortal as Heart can wish--I hope she will not jilt me too. [_Aside_. _Cor_. So! he’s at his common Proof for all Arguments; if she shou’d take him at his Word now, and she’ll be sure to do’t. _Lau_. Amiable Stranger, pardon the Mistake, And charge it on a Passion for a Brother: Devotion was not more retir’d than I, Vestals or widow’d Matrons when they weep; Till by a fatal Chance I saw in you, The dear Resemblance of a murder’d Brother. [_Weeps_. _Jul_. What the Devil can she mean by this? [_Aside_. _Lau_. I durst not trust my Eyes, yet still I gaz’d, And that encreas’d my Faith you were my Brother: But since they err’d, and he indeed is dead, Oh, give me leave to pay you all that Love, That Tenderness and Passion that was his. [_Weeping_. _Cor_. So, I knew she wou’d bring Matters about some way or other. Oh Mischief, Mischief, help me! S’life, I can be wicked enough when I have no use on’t! and now have, I’m as harmless as a Fool. [_As Gal. _is earnestly talking to_ Lau. Julio _pulls him by the Sleeve_. _Lau_. Oh, save me, save me from the Murderer. _Jul_. Hah! _Gal_. A Murderer, where? _Lau_. I faint, I die with horror of the Sight! _Gal_. Hah--my Friend a Murderer! sure you mistake him, Madam; he saw not Rome till yesterday; an honest Youth, Madam, and one that knows his distance upon occasion!--S’life, how cam’st thou here?--prithee be gone and leave us. _Jul_. Why, do you know this Lady, Sir? _Gal_. Know her!--a--ay, ay,--Man--and all her Relations, she’s of Quality:--withdraw, withdraw--Madam--a--he is my Friend, and shall be civil.-- _Lau_. I have an easy Faith for all you say:--but yet however innocent he be, or dear to you, I beg he wou’d depart--he is so like my Brother’s Murderer, that one Look more wou’d kill me-- _Jul_. A Murderer! charge me with Cowardice, with Rapes or Treasons-- Gods, a Murderer! _Cor_. A Devil on her, she has robb’d the Sex of all their Arts of Cunning. _Gal_. Pox on’t, thou’rt rude; go, in good Manners go. _Lau_. I do conjure ye to torture me no more: If you wou’d have me think you’re not that Murderer, Be gone, and leave your Friend to calm my Heart Into some kinder Thoughts. _Gal_. Ay, prithee go, I’ll be sure to do thy Business for thee. _Cor_. Yes, yes, you will not fail to do a friendly Part, no doubt-- _Jul_. ‘Tis but in vain to stay--I see she did mistake her Man last night, and ‘twas to Chance I am in debt for that good Fortune;--I will retire to shew my Obedience, Madam. [_Exit_. Jul. Gal. _going to the door with him_.