Tick. Why, how now, Barberacho, what, am I cozen’d then, and is Sir Signal the Man in favour? [Aside to Petro.
Pet. Lord, Signior, that so wise a man as you cannot perceive her meaning,—for the Devil take me if I can. [Aside.—Why this is done to take off all suspicion from you—and lay it on him;—don’t you conceive it, Signior?
Tick. Yes, honest Rogue,—Oh the witty Wag-tail,—I have a part to play too, that shall confirm it—young Gentlewoman.—
Cor. Ah, Belle ingrate, is’t thus you recompense my suffering Love? to fly this Beauty so ador’d by all, that slight the ready Conquest of the World, to trust a Heart with you?—Ah—Traditor Cruella.
Sir Sig. Poor Heart, it goes to the very soul of me to be so coy and scornful to her, that it does; but a pox on’t, her over-fondness will discover all.
Tick. Fly, fly, young Man, whilst yet thou hast a spark of Virtue shining in thee, fly the temptations of this young Hypocrite; the Love that she pretends with so much zeal and ardour, is indecent, unwarrantable and unlawful; first indecent, as she is Woman—for thou art Woman—and beautiful Woman—yes, very beautiful Woman; on whom Nature hath shew’d her height of Excellence in the out-work, but left thee unfinisht, imperfect and impure.
Cor. Heavens, what have we here?
Sir Sig. A Pox of my Sir Domine; now is he beside his Text, and will spoil all.
Tick. Secondly, Unwarrantable; by what Authority dost thou seduce with the Allurements of thine Eyes, and the Conjurements of thy Tongue, the Wastings of thy Hands, and the Tinklings of thy Feet, the young Men in the Villages?
Cor. Sirrah, how got this Madman in? seize him, and take him hence.