Where was my Soul it cou’d not meet thy Voice,
And take this knowledge in?
[As they are talking, enter Willmore finely drest, and Frederick.
Will. No Intelligence! no News of Belvile yet—well I am the most unlucky Rascal in Nature—ha!—am I deceiv’d—or is it he—look, [Fred.—’tis he]—my dear Belvile.
[Runs and embraces him. [Belv. Vizard falls out on’s Hand.]
Belv. Hell and Confusion seize thee!
Pedro. Ha! Belvile! I beg your Pardon, Sir. [Takes Flor. from him.
Belv. Nay, touch her not, she’s mine by Conquest, Sir. I won her by my Sword.
Will. Did’st thou so—and egad, Child, we’ll keep her by the Sword. [Draws on Pedro, Belv. goes between.
Belv. Stand off.