_Ant._ Yes, well enough, I thank nature. [_Aside._ _Joh._ And I am yet neither old nor ugly: Sure he will not refuse me. _Ant._ No; thou may'st pawn thy maidenhead upon't, he wont. [_Aside._ _Joh._ The Mufti would feast himself upon other women, and keep me fasting. _Ant._ O, the holy curmudgeon! [_Aside._ _Joh._ Would preach abstinence, and practise luxury! but, I thank my stars, I have edified more by his example than his precept. _Ant._ [_Aside._] Most divinely argued; she's the best casuist in all Africk. [_He rushes out, and embraces her._] I can hold no longer from embracing thee, my dear Morayma; the old unconscionable whoreson, thy father, could he expect cold chastity from a child of his begetting? _Joh._ What nonsense do you talk? do you take me for the Mufti's daughter? _Ant._ Why, are you not, madam? [_Throwing off her barnus._ _Joh._ I find you had an appointment with Morayma. _Ant._ By all that's good, the nauseous wife! [_Aside._ _Joh._ What! you are confounded, and stand mute? _Ant._ Somewhat nonplust, I confess, to hear you deny your name so positively. Why, are not you Morayma, the Mufti's daughter? Did not I see you with him: did not he present me to you? were you not so charitable as to give me money? ay, and to tread upon my foot, and squeeze my hand too, if I may be so bold to remember you of past favours? _Joh._ And you see I am come to make them good; but I am neither Morayma, nor the Mufti's daughter. _Ant._ Nay, I know not that: but I am sure he is old enough to be your father; and either father, or reverend father, I heard you call him. _Joh._ Once again, how came you to name Morayma? _Ant._ Another damned mistake of mine: for, asking one of my fellow-slaves, who were the chief ladies about the house, he answered me, Morayma and Johayma; but she, it seems, is his daughter, with a pox to her, and you are his beloved wife. _Joh._ Say your beloved mistress, if you please; for that's the title I desire. This moonshine grows offensive to my eyes; come, shall we walk into the arbour? there we may rectify all mistakes. _Ant._ That's close and dark. _Joh._ And are those faults to lovers? _Ant._ But there I cannot please myself with the sight of your beauty. _Joh._ Perhaps you may do better. _Ant._ But there's not a breath of air stirring. _Joh._ The breath of lovers is the sweetest air; but you are fearful. _Ant._ I am considering indeed, that, if I am taken with you-- _Joh._ The best way to avoid it is to retire, where we may not be discovered. _Ant._ Where lodges your husband? _Joh._ Just against the face of this open walk. _Ant._ Then he has seen us already, for aught I know. _Joh._ You make so many difficulties, I fear I am displeasing to you. _Ant._ [_Aside._] If Morayma comes, and takes me in the arbour with her, I have made a fine exchange of that diamond for this pebble.