Volume Ii Part 100 (1/2)

[_In a soft Tone_.

Join all your aids to make my _Silvia_ kind; For I am fill'd with the expecting Bliss, [Tick, _thrusts his Head out to listen_.

And much Delay or Disappointment kills me.

_Tick_. Disappointment kills me,--and me too, _certo_--'tis she-- [_Gropes about_.

_Gal_. Oh, haste, my Fair, haste to my longing Arms, Where are you, dear and loveliest of your s.e.x?

_Tick_. That's I, that's I, _my Alma! mea Core, mea Vita!_ [_Groping and speaking low_.

_Gal_. Hah--art thou come, my Life! my Soul! my Joy!

[_Goes to embrace_ Tick, _they meet and kiss_.

'Sdeath, what's this, a bearded Mistress! Lights, Lights there, quickly, Lights! nay, curse me if thou scap'st me.

[Tick. _struggles to get away, he holds him by the Crevat and Perriwig_; _Enter_ Petro _with a Candle_.

_Gal_. _Barberacho_--confound him, 'tis the Fool whom I found this Evening about the House, hovering to roost him here!--Ha--what the Devil have I caught--a _Tartar_? escap'd again! the Devil's his Confederate.--

[Pet. _puts out the Candle, comes to_ Tick, _unties his Crevat behind, and he slips his head out of the Perriwig, and gets away, leaving both in_ Gal's _hands_.

_Pet_. Give me your Hand, I'll lead you a back-pair of stairs through the Garden.

_Tick_. Oh, any way to save my Reputation--oh--

_Gal_. Let me but once more grasp thee, and thou shalt find more safety in the Devil's Clutches: none but my Mistress serve ye!

[_Gropes out after him_.

[Pet. _with_ Tick, _running over the Stage_, Gal. _after 'em, with the Crevat and Perriwig in one Hand, his Pistol in t'other_.

_Enter_ Philippa _with a Light_.

_Phil_. Mercy upon us! what's the matter? what Noise is this--hah, a Pistol! what can this mean?

[_A Pistol goes off_.

_Enter Sir_ Signal _running_.

Sir _Sig_. Oh, save me, gentle Devil, save me, the stairs are fortify'd with Cannons and double Culverins; I'm pursu'd by a whole Regiment of arm'd Men! here's Gold, Gold in abundance, save me.--

_Phil_. What Cannons? what armed Men?

Sir _Sig_. Finding my self pursu'd as I was groping my way through the Hall, and not being able to find the Door, I made towards the stairs again, at the foot of which I was saluted with a great Gun--a pox of the Courtesy.

_Gal_. [_Without_.] Where are ye, Knight, Buffoon, Dog of _Egypt_?

Sir _Sig_. Thunder and Lightning! 'tis _Gallaird's_ Voice.

_Phil_. Here, step behind this Hanging--there's a Chimney which may shelter ye till the Storm be over,--if you be not smother'd before.

[_Puts him behind the Arras_.

_Enter_ Gal. _as before, and_ Corn, _at the other door_.

_Cor_. Heavens! What rude noise is this?