_Seb_. Whither, Sir, to my own Son’s house; is there such danger in coming a mile or two out of _Cadiz_? _Fran_. Is the Devil in you, or me, or both? Am not I in the Possession of _Turks_ and Infidels? _Bal_. No, Sir; safe in _Antonio Villa_, within a League of _Cadiz_. _Fran_. Why, what a Pox, is not this the Great _Turk_ himself? _Bal_. This, Sir,--cry mercy, my Lord,--’tis Don _Carlos_, Sir, the Governor. _Fran_. The Governor! the worst Great _Turk_ of all; so, I am cozened, --most rarely cheated; why, what a horrid Plot’s here carried on, to bring in heretical Cuckoldom? _Car_. Well, Sir, since you have found it out, I’ll own my Passion. _Jul_. Well, if I have been kind you forced me to’t, nay, begged on your knees, to give my self away. _Fran_. Guilty, guilty, I confess,--but ‘twas to the Great _Turk_, Mistress, not Don _Carlos_. _Jul_. And was the Sin the greater? _Fran_. No, but the Honour was less. _Bal_. Oh horrid! What, intreat his Wife to be a Whore? _Car_. Sir, you’re mistaken, she was my Wife in sight of Heaven before; and I but seiz’d my own. _Fran_. Oh,--Sir, she’s at your Service still. _Car_. I thank you, Sir, and take her as my own. _Bal_. Hold, my Honour’s concerned. _Fran_. Not at all, Father mine, she’s my Wife, my Lumber now, and, I hope, I may dispose of my Goods and Chattels--if he takes her we are upon equal terms, for he makes himself my Cuckold, as he has already made me his;--for, if my memory fail me not, we did once upon a time consummate, as my Daughter has it. _Enter_ Guiliom _in his own dress; crying Chimney-Sweep_. _Guil_. Chimney-sweep,--by your leave, Gentlemen. _Ant_. Whither away, Sirrah? _Guil_. What’s that to you, Sir?-- _Ant_. Not to me, Sirrah;--who wou’d you speak with? _Guil_. What’s that to you, Sir? why, what a Pox, may not a man speak with his own Lady and Wife? _Cla_. Heavens! his Wife! to look for his Wife amongst Persons of Quality! _Car_. Kick out the Rascal. _Guil_. As soon as you please, my Lord; but let me take my Wife along with me. [_Takes_ Isa. _by the hand_. _Isa_. Faugh! what means the Devil? _Guil_. Devil; ‘twas not long since you found me a human creature within there. _Isa_. Villain, Dog; help me to tear his Eyes out. _Guil_. What, those Eyes, those lovely Eyes, that wounded you so deeply? _Fran_. What’s the meaning of all this? why, what, am I cozen’d? and is my Daughter cozen’d? _Guil_. Cozen’d! why, I am a Man, Sir. _Fran_. The Devil you are, Sir, how shall I know that? _Guil_. Your Daughter does, Sir; and that’s all one. _Isa_. Oh! I’m undone; am I no Viscountess then. _Guil_. Hang Titles; ‘twas my self you lov’d, my amiable sweet and charming self: In fine, sweet-heart, I am your Husband; no Viscount, but honest _Guiliom_, the Chimney-sweeper.--I heard your Father design’d to marry you to a Tradesman, and you were for a Don; and to please you both, you see how well I have managed matters. _Fran_. I’ll not give her a farthing.