Enter to him Florinda.
Flor. This House is haunted sure,’tis well furnisht and no living thing inhabits it—hah—a Man! Heavens how he’s attir’d! sure ’tis some Rope-dancer, or Fencing-Master; I tremble now for fear, and yet I must venture now to speak to him—Sir, if I may not interrupt your Meditations— [He starts up and gazes.]
Blunt. Hah—what’s here? Are my wishes granted? and is not that a she Creature? Adsheartlikins ’tis! what wretched thing art thou—hah!
Flor. Charitable Sir, you’ve told your self already what I am; a very wretched Maid, forc’d by a strange unlucky Accident, to seek a safety here, and must be ruin’d, if you do not grant it.
Blunt. Ruin’d! Is there any Ruin so inevitable as that which now threatens thee? Dost thou know, miserable Woman, into what Den of Mischiefs thou art fall’n? what a Bliss of Confusion?—hah—dost not see something in my looks that frights thy guilty Soul, and makes thee wish to change that Shape of Woman for any humble Animal, or Devil? for those were safer for thee, and less mischievous.
Flor. Alas, what mean you, Sir? I must confess your Looks have something in ’em makes me fear; but I beseech you, as you seem a Gentleman, pity a harmless Virgin, that takes your House for Sanctuary.
Blunt. Talk on, talk on, and weep too, till my faith return. Do, flatter me out of my Senses again—a harmless Virgin with a Pox, as much one as t’other, adsheartlikins. Why, what the Devil can I not be safe in my House for you? not in my Chamber? nay, even being naked too cannot secure me. This is an Impudence greater than has invaded me yet.—Come, no Resistance. [Pulls her rudely.
Flor. Dare you be so cruel?
Blunt. Cruel, adsheartlikins as a Gally-slave, or a Spanish Whore: Cruel, yes, I will kiss and beat thee all over; kiss, and see thee all over; thou shalt lie with me too, not that I care for the Injoyment, but to let you see I have ta’en deliberated Malice to thee, and will be revenged on one Whore for the Sins of another; I will smile and deceive thee, flatter thee, and beat thee, kiss and swear, and lye to thee, imbrace thee and rob thee, as she did me, fawn on thee, and strip thee stark naked, then hang thee out at my Window by the Heels, with a Paper of scurvey Verses fasten’d to thy Breast, in praise of damnable Women—Come, come along.
Flor. Alas, Sir, must I be sacrific’d for the Crimes of the most infamous of my Sex? I never understood the Sins you name.