Feth. Sure ’tis she, pretty modest Rogue, she comes i’th’ dark to hide her Blushes—hum, I’m plaguy eloquent o’th’ sudden—who’s there? [Whispering.
Car. ’Tis I, my Love.
Feth. Hah, sweet Soul, make haste.—There ’twas again.
Car. So kind, sure she takes me for some other, or has some inkling of my Design— [To himself.
Where are you, Sweetest?
Feth. Here, my Love, give me your Hand— [Puts out his Hand; Carlo kneels and kisses it.
Car. Here let me worship the fair Shrine before I dare approach so fair a Saint. [Kisses the Hand.
Feth. Hah, what a Pox have we here?—wou’d I were well out o’ t’other side—perhaps—’tis her Husband, and then I’m a dead Man, if I’m discover’d. [Removes to t’other side, Carlo holds his Hand.
Car. Nay, do not fly—I know you took me for some happier Person. [Feth. struggles, Car. rises and takes him in his Arms, and kisses him.
Feth. What, will you ravish me? [In a shrill Voice.