_Car_. By what strange Witchcraft shall this be brought to pass? _Guz_. E’en honest Invention, Sir, good Faith, listen and believe:--When he goes, he certainly goes by Sea, to save the charges of Mules. _Ant_. Right, I heard him say so; in the Galley that lies in the Port. _Guz_. Good, there is a Galley also, in the Harbour, you lately took from the _Turks_; Habits too were taken in her enough to furnish out some forty or fifty as convenient _Turks_ as a man wou’d wish at the Devil. _Car_. Ah, Rogue, I begin to apprehend already. _Guz_. Our _Turkish_ Galley thus man’d, I’ll put to Sea, and about a League from Land, with a sham-fight set on that of Old _Francisco_, take it, make ‘em all Slaves, clap the Old Fellow under hatches, and then you may deal with the fair Slave his Wife, as _Adam_ did with _Eve_. _Car_. I’m ravish’d with the thought. _Ant_. But what will be the event of this? _Car_. I will not look so far, but stop at the dear Joys, and fear no Fate beyond ‘em. _Guz_. Nay, with a little cudgelling this dull Brain of mine I shall advance it farther for the Jest-sake;--as I take it, Signior Don _Antonio_, you have a fine Villa, within a Bow-shot of this City belonging to your self. _Ant_. I have with pleasant Gardens, Grotto’s, Waterworks.-- _Car_. A most admirable Scene for Love and our Designs. _Ant_. ‘Tis yours, Sir. _Guz_. Then, Sir, when we have taken this old Fool, on whom the grossest cheat wou’d pass, much more this, which shall carry so seeming a Truth in’t, he being clapt under hatches in the Dark, we’ll wind round a League or two at Sea, turn in, and land at this Garden, Sir, of yours, which we’ll pretend to be a _Seraglio_, belonging to the _Grand Seignior_; whither, in this hot part o’th’ year, he goes to regale himself with his She-Slaves. _Car_. But the distance of Place and Time allow not such a Fallacy. _Guz_. Why he never read in’s life; knows neither Longitude nor Latitude, and _Constantinople_ may be in the midst of _Spain_ for any thing he knows; besides, his Fear will give him little leisure for thinking. _Ant_. But how shall we do with the Seamen of this other Gally? _Guz_. There’s not above a Dozen, besides the Slaves that are chain’d to the Oar, and those Dozen, a Pistole apiece wou’d not only make ‘em assist in the design, but betray it in earnest to the _Grand Seignior_; --for them I’ll undertake, the Master of it being _Pier de Sala_, your Father’s old Servant, Sir. [_To_ Carlos. _Ant_. But possibly his mind may alter upon the Arrival of this False Count of ours? _Car_. No matter, make sure of those Seamen however; that they may be ready upon occasion. _Ant_. ‘Tis high time for me that your Count were arriv’d, for this morning is destin’d the last of my Liberty. _Car_. This Morning--Come, haste and dress me-- [_To_ Guz.]--_Guzman_, where’s our Count? _Enter_ Guiliom _drest fine, two great_ Pages _and a little one following_.