Fran. O Heavens! I make her.
Car. No more, thy Fate is fix’d—and, here attend, till he himself deliver his willing Wife into my Arms; Bassa, attend, and see it be perform’d— [To his Mutes, then to Guz. [Ex. Car.
Guz. Go, one of you, and fetch the fair Slave hither.
[Ex. Turk.
Fran. I pimp for my own Wife! I hold the door to my own Flesh and Blood! monstrum horrendum!
Guz. Nay, do’t, and do’t handsomly too, not with a snivelling Countenance, as if you were compell’d to’t; but with the face of Authority, and the awful command of a Husband—or thou dyest.
Enter Turk and Julia.
Fran. My dear Julia, you are a Fool, my Love.
Jul. For what, dear Husband?
Fran. I say, a silly Fool, to refuse the Love of so great a Turk; why, what a Pox makes you so coy? [Angrily.