Tick. So, I am got up at last—thanks to my Knight, for I am sure ‘twas he! hah, he’s here—I’ll hear his Business. [Goes near to Fillamour.
Fil. Confound this Woman, this bewitching Woman: I cannot shake her from my sullen Heart; Spite of my Soul I linger hereabouts, and cannot to Viterbo.
Tick. Very good; a dainty Rascal this!
Enter Galliard with a Lanthorn, as from Silvia’s House, held by Philippa.
Fil.—Hah, who’s this coming from her House? Perhaps ‘tis Galliard.
Gal. No Argument shall fetch me back, by Heaven.
Fil. ‘Tis the mad Rogue.
Tick. Oh Lord, ‘tis Galliard, and angry too; now cou’d I but get off, and leave Sir Signal to be beaten, ‘twere a rare project—but ‘tis impossible without discovery.
Phil. But will you hear her, Signior?
Gal. That is, will I lose more time about her? Plague on’t, I have thrown away already such Songs and Sonnets, such Madrigals and Posies, such Night-walks, Sighs, and direful Lovers looks, as wou’d have mollify’d any Woman of Conscience and Religion; and now to be popt i’th’ mouth with Quality! Well, if ever you catch me lying with any but honest well-meaning Damsels hereafter, hang me:—farewel, old Secret, farewel. [Ex. Philippa. —Now am I asham’d of being cozen’d so damnably, Fillamour, that virtuous Rascal, will so laugh at me; s’heart, cou’d I but have debaucht him, we had been on equal terms.—but I must help my self with lying, and swear I have—a—