Pag. A Curtezan, my Lord, fair as the Morning, and as young.
Jul. I know she’s fair and young; but is she to be had, Boy?
Pag. My Lord, she is—her Footman told me she was a Zittella.
Jul. How, a Zittella!—a Virgin, ‘tis impossible.
Pag. I cannot swear it, Sir, but so he told me; he said she had a World of Lovers: Her name is Silvianetta, Sir, and her Lodgings—
Jul. I know’t, are on the Corso; a Curtezan? and a Zittella too? a pretty contradiction; but I’ll bate her the last, so I might enjoy her as the first: whate’er the price be, I’m resolv’d upon the adventure; and will this minute prepare my self. [Going off, Enter Mor. and Octa.]— hah, does the Light deceive me, or is that indeed my Uncle, in earnest conference with a Cavalier?—’tis he—I’ll step aside till he’s past, lest he hinders this Night’s diversion. [Goes aside.
Mor. I say ‘twas rashly done, to fight him unexamin’d.
Oct. I need not ask; my Reason has inform’d me, and I’m convinc’d, where-e’er he has concealed her, that she is fled with Fillamour.
Jul. Who is’t they speak of?
Mor. Well, well, sure my Ancestors committed some horrid crime against
Nature, that she sent this Pest of Woman-kind into our Family,—two
Nieces for my share;—by Heaven, a Proportion sufficient to undo six
Generations.