Fran. Y' are both too lucky in the likelihood
Of getting off so soon. Stay but a moment,
Whilst I go down to see the wicket open,
And see that there be nobody in the way. [Exit Francisca.
Chi. It is a cunning drab, and knows her trade.
Re-enter Francisca, and comes to the hanging.
Fran. There's now some witch o' th' wing indeed, Chichon,
Julio, that never till this night forbore
To go to Violante's, ere he slept,
And pass some hours there—Julio, who never
Inquired after the shutting of a door,
Hath lock'd the gate himself at 's coming in,
And bid a servant wait below till midnight,
With charge to say to any that should knock
And ask for him, that he's gone sick to bed!
What it can mean, I know not.
Chi. I would I did not; but I have too true
An almanac in my bones foretells a beating
Far surer than foul weather. He has us, faith,
Fast in Lob's-pound.[12] Heaven send him a light hand,
To whom my fustigation shall belong:
As for my master, he may have the honour
To be rebuk'd at sharp.
Fran. May terror rack this varlet; but for you, sir,
Be not dismay'd, the hazard's not so great.
Yonder balcony, at farther end o' th' room,
Opens into the street, and the descent is
Little beyond your height, hung by the arms:
When Julio is asleep, I shall not fail
To come and let you out; I keep the key.
In the meanwhile, you must have patience.
Chi. It were a nasty hole to stay in long.
Did not my fear correct its evil savour. [Aside.
Dame, you say well for him, with whom I think
Y' have measur'd length, you speak so punctually
Of his dimensions; but I see no care
For me, your pretty, not your proper man,
Who does abhor feats of activity. [To her.
Fran. I'll help you—with a halter!
[Exit Francisca, and Chichon retires.