_Fid._ Of the falling sickness; and I lie generally an hour in a trance: therefore pray consider your honour for the sake of my love, and let me go, that I may return to you often. _Oliv._ But will you be sure then to come to-morrow night? _Fid._ Yes. _Oliv._ Swear. _Fid._ By our past kindness! _Oliv._ Well, go your ways then, if you will, you naughty creature you.--[_Exit_ FIDELIA.] These young lovers, with their fears and modesty, make themselves as bad as old ones to us; and I apprehend their bashfulness more than their tattling. _Re-enter_ FIDELIA. _Fid._ O madam, we're undone! There was a gentleman upon the stairs, coming up with a candle, which made me retire. Look you, here he comes! _Re-enter_ VERNISH, _and his_ Servant _with a light._ _Oliv._ How, my husband! Oh, undone indeed! This way. [_Exit._ _Ver._ Ha! You shall not escape me so, sir. [_Stops_ FIDELIA. _Fid._ O Heavens! more fears, plagues, and torments yet in store! [_Aside._ _Ver._ Come, sir, I guess what your business was here, but this must be your business now. Draw. [_Draws._ _Fid._ Sir-- _Ver._ No expostulations; I shall not care to hear of't. Draw. _Fid._ Good sir! _Ver._ How, you rascal! not courage to draw; yet durst do me the greatest injury in the world? Thy cowardice shall not save thy life. [_Offers to run at_ FIDELIA. _Fid._ O hold, sir, and send but your servant down, and I'll satisfy you, sir, I could not injure you as you imagine. _Ver._ Leave the light and begone.--[_Exit_ Servant.] Now, quickly, sir, what have you to say, or-- _Fid._ I am a woman, sir, a very unfortunate woman. _Ver._ How! a very handsome woman, I'm sure then: here are witnesses of't too, I confess--[_Pulls off her peruke and feels her breasts; then aside_,] Well, I'm glad to find the tables turned; my wife is in more danger of cuckolding than I was. _Fid._ Now, sir, I hope you are so much a man of honour, as to let me go, now I have satisfied you, sir. _Ver._ When you have satisfied me, madam, I will. _Fid._ I hope, sir, you are too much a gentleman to urge those secrets from a woman which concern her honour. You may guess my misfortune to be love by my disguise: but a pair of breeches could not wrong you, sir. _Ver._ I may believe love has changed your outside, which could not wrong me; but why did my wife run away? _Fid._ I know not, sir; perhaps because she would not be forced to discover me to you, or to guide me from your suspicions, that you might not discover me yourself; which ungentlemanlike curiosity I hope you will cease to have, and let me go. _Ver._ Well, madam, if I must not know who you are, 'twill suffice for me only to know certainly what you are; which you must not deny me. Come, there is a bed within, the proper rack for lovers; and if you are a woman, there you can keep no secrets; you'll tell me there all unasked. Come. [_Pulls her._ _Fid._ Oh! what d'ye mean? Help! oh!