Car. Thou art a perfect Mistress of thy Trade.
Pet. So, now will I to the Seigniora’s Bed my self, drest and perfum’d, and finish two good Works at once; earn five hundred Crowns, and keep up the Honour of the House. [Aside.] —Softly, sweet Don. [Lights him out.
Aur. And I will do two more good things, and disappoint your Expectations; jilt the young English Fool, and have old Carlo well bang’d, if t’other have any Courage.
Enter La Nuche in Rage, and Sancho.
La Nu. Aurelia, help, help me to be reveng’d upon this wretched unconsidering Heart.
Aur. Heavens, have you made the Rover happy, Madam?
La Nu. Oh wou’d I had! or that or any Sin wou’d change this Rage into some easier Passion: Sickness and Poverty, Disgrace and Pity, all met in one, were kinder than this Love, this raging Fire of a proud amorous Heart.
Enter Petronella.
Pet. Heavens, what’s the matter?
Aur. Here’s Petronella, dissemble but your Rage a little.