_Ant._ What do you mean, my dear, to stand talking in this suspicious place, just underneath Johayma's window?--[_To the Mufti._] You are well met, comrade; I know you are the friend of our flight: are the horses ready at the postern gate? _Muf._ Antonio, and in disguise! now I begin to smell a rat. _Ant._ And I another, that out-stinks it. False Morayma, hast thou thus betrayed me to thy father! _Mor._ Alas! I was betrayed myself. He came disguised like you, and I, poor innocent, ran into his hands. _Muf._ In good time you did so; I laid a trap for a bitch-fox, and a worse vermin has caught himself in it. You would fain break loose now, though you left a limb behind you; but I am yet in my own territories, and in call of company; that's my comfort. _Ant._ [_Taking him by the throat._] No; I have a trick left to put thee past thy squeaking. I have given thee the quinsy; that ungracious tongue shall preach no more false doctrine. _Mor._ What do you mean? you will not throttle him? consider he's my father. _Ant._ Pr'ythee, let us provide first for our own safety; if I do not consider him, he will consider us, with a vengeance, afterwards. _Mor._ You may threaten him for crying out; but, for my sake, give him back a little cranny of his windpipe, and some part of speech. _Ant._ Not so much as one single interjection.--Come away, father-in-law, this is no place for dialogues; when you are in the mosque, you talk by hours, and there no man must interrupt you. This is but like for like, good father-in-law; now I am in the pulpit, it is your turn to hold your tongue. [_He struggles._] Nay, if you will be hanging back, I shall take care you shall hang forward. [_Pulls him along the Stage, with his Sword at his Reins._ _Mor._ The other way to the arbour with him; and make haste, before we are discovered. _Ant._ If I only bind and gag him there, he may commend me hereafter for civil usage; he deserves not so much favour by any action of his life. _Mor._ Yes, pray bate him one,--for begetting your mistress. _Ant._ I would, if he had not thought more of thy mother than of thee. Once more, come along in silence, my Pythagorean father-in-law. _Joh._ [_At the Balcony._] A bird in a cage may peep, at least, though she must not fly.--What bustle's there beneath my window? Antonio, by all my hopes! I know him by his habit. But what makes that woman with him, and a friend, a sword drawn, and hasting hence? This is no time for silence:--Who's within? call there, where are the servants? why, Omar, Abedin, Hassan, and the rest, make haste, and run into the garden; there are thieves and villains; arm all the family, and stop them. _Ant._ [_Turning back._] O that screech owl at the window! we shall be pursued immediately; which way shall we take?