Mar. My design now is, to prevent Fillamour’s coming into danger, by hindring his approach to this House: I wou’d preserve the kind Ingrate with any hazard of my own; and ‘tis better to die than fall into the hands of Octavio. I’m desperate with that thought, and fear no danger: however, be you ready at the door, and when I ring admit me—ha—who comes here?
Enter Tickletext with a Periwig and Crevat of Sir Signal’s: A Sword by his side, and a dark Lanthorn; she opens hers, looks on him, and goes out.
Tick. A Man! now am I, though an old Sinner, as timorous as a young Thief: ‘tis a great inconvenience in these Popish Countrys, that a man cannot have liberty to steal to a Wench without danger; not that I need fear who sees me except Galliard, who suspecting my business, will go near to think I am wickedly inclin’d. Sir Signal I have left hard at his Study, and Sir Henry is no nocturnal Inamorato, unless like me he dissemble it.—Well, certo, ‘tis a wonderful pleasure to deceive the World: And as a learned Man well observ’d, that the Sin of Wenching lay in the Habit only; I having laid that aside, Timothy Tickletext, principal Holder-forth of the Covent-Garden Conventicle, Chaplain of Buffoon-Hall in the County of Kent, is free to recreate himself.
Enter Gal. with a dark Lanthorn.
Gal. Where the Devil is this Fillamour? and the Mufick? which way cou’d he go to lose me thus? [Looks towards the Door. —He is not yet come—
Tick. Not yet come—that must be Barberacho!— Where are ye, honest Barberacho, where are ye? [Groping towards Gal.
Gal. Hah! Barberacho? that Name I am sure is us’d by none but Sir Signal and his Coxcomb Tutor; it must be one of those—Where are ye, Signior, where are ye? [Goes towards him, and opens the Lanthorn—and shuts it strait.
—Oh, ‘tis the Knight,—are you there, Signior?
Tick. Oh, art thou come, honest Rascal—conduct me quickly, conduct me to the beautiful and fair Silvianetta. [Gives him his Hand.
Gal. Yes, when your Dogship’s damn’d. Silvianetta! Sdeath, is she a Whore for Fools? [Draws.