Basil. Hush! hush!
Wyck. Thus it is to be such a fellow as you. You pretend to be so tender-hearted. Well, I never wished to kill my brother. If I had one I could love him, unless he were a damned scrupulous sinner, that makes faces at doing what he is always wishing. Why, hark you, with your peccadilloes, you resemble a monkey over a hot dish of roasted chestnuts; you keep grinning round with your mouth watering, till they get cold, before you taste.
Basil. I tell thee that I hate him and fear him not. Would that his blood might freeze upon my door-step on a December night! If he were here now, I would stab him before thee.
Wyck. Ay, in the back.
Basil. But I have a plan that shall undo him most securely. Come in here, and I will tell thee over a stoup of right claret.
Wyck. Now you speak reason; for I am but a dry rogue, and am never fit for much early in the morning, without I sit up all night. [Exeunt, L.]
SCENE III.
[Last Cut.] [2nd Grooves.]
A handsomely fitted Chamber in London.—A practicable window in F.
Enter ARTHUR WALTON, FLORENCE, the LADY ELIZABETH CROMWELL.