The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Ii Part 96

_Mar_. This must be he.

[_Goes up to 'em_.

_Gal_. Come, come, your Song, Boy, your Song.

_Whilst 'tis singing, Enter_ Octavio, Julio, c.r.a.pine, _and Bravos_.

The SONG.

_Crudo Amore, Crudo Amore, Il mio Core non fa per te bis Suffrir non vo tormenti Senza mai sperar mar ce Belta che sia Tiranna, Belta che sia Tiranna Doll meo offerto recetto non e Il tuo rigor singunna Se le pene Le catene Tenta auolgere al mio pie See see Crudel Amore Il mio Core non fa per te. bis

Lusinghiero, Lusinghiero, Pui non Credo alta tua fe bis L' incendio del tuo foce Nel mio Core pui vivo none Belta che li die Luoce Belta che li die Luoce Ma il rigor L'Ardore s'bande Io non sato tuo gioce Ch' il Veleno Del mio seno Vergoroso f.a.ggito se n'e.

See see Crudel Amore Il mio Core non fa per te_. bis

_Oct_. 'Tis they we look for, draw and be ready.--

_Tick_. Hah, draw--then there's no safety here, _certo_. [_Aside_.

[Octavio, Julio _and their Party draw, and fight with_ Fil.

_and_ Gal. Marcella _ingages on their side; all fight, the Musick confusedly amongst 'em:_ Gal. _loses his Sword, and in the hurry gets a Base Viol, and happens to strike_ Tickletext, _who is getting away--his Head breaks its way quite through, and it hangs about his neck; they fight out_.

Enter_ Petro _with a Lanthorn. Sir_ Signal _stands close still_.

_Tick_. Oh, undone, undone! where am I, where am I?

_Pet_. Hah--that's the voice of my amorous _Ananias_,--or I am mistaken-- what the Devil's the matter?

[_Opens his Lanthorn_.

--Where are ye, Sir?--hah, cuts so--what new-found Pillory have we here?

_Tick_. Oh, honest _Barberacho_, undo me, undo me quickly.

_Pet_. So I design, Sir, as fast as I can--or lose my aim--there, Sir, there: All's well--I have set you free, come follow me the back way into the house.

[_Ex_. Pet. _and_ Tickletext.

_Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Marcella, _with their Swords drawn_, Gal. _after 'em_.

_Gal_. A plague upon 'em, what a quarter's here for a Wench, as if there were no more i'th' Nation?--wou'd I'd my Sword again.

[_Gropes for it_.

_Mar_. Which way shall I direct him to be safer?--how is it, Sir? I hope you are not hurt.

_Fil_. Not that I feel, what art thou ask'st so kindly?

_Mar_. A Servant to the Roman Curtezan, who sent me forth to wait your coming, Sir; but finding you in danger, shar'd it with you.--Come, let me lead you into safety, Sir--

_Fil_. Thou'st been too kind to give me cause to doubt thee.

_Mar_. Follow me, Sir, this Key will give us entrance through the Garden.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Octavio _with his Sword in his hand_.

_Oct_. Oh! what d.a.m.n'd luck had I so poorly to be vanquisht! When all is hush'd, I know he will return,--therefore I'll fix me here, till I become a furious Statue--but I'll reach his heart.

Sir _Sig_. Oh _lamentivolo fato_--what b.l.o.o.d.y Villains these Popish _Italians_ are!

_Enter_ Julio.

_Oct_. Hah--I hear one coming this way--hah--the door opens too, and he makes toward it--pray Heaven he be the right, for this I'm sure's the House.--Now, Luck, an't be thy will-- [_Follows_ Julio _towards the door softly_.

_Jul_. The Rogues are fled, but how secure I know not;-- And I'll pursue my first design of Love, And if this _Silvianetta_ will be kind--

_Enter_ Laura _from the House in a Night-gown_.

_Lau_. Whist--who is't names _Silvianetta_?

_Jul_. A Lover, and her Slave-- [_She takes him by the hand_.

_Lau_. Oh, is it you,--are you escap'd unhurt?

Come to my Bosom--and be safe for ever--

_Jul_. 'Tis Love that calls, and now Revenge must stay, --This hour is thine, fond Boy; the next that is my own I'll give to Anger.--

_Oct_. Oh, ye pernicious Pair,--I'll quickly change the Scene of Love into a rougher and more unexpected Entertainment.

[_She leads_ Julio _in_.--Oct. _follows close, they shut the door upon 'em. Sir_ Sig. _thrusts out his head to hearken, hears no body, and advances.

Sir _Sig_. Sure the Devil reigns to night; wou'd I were shelter'd, and let him rain Fire and Brimstone: for pa.s.s the streets I dare not--this shou'd be the House--or hereabouts I'm sure 'tis.--Hah--what's this--a String--of a Bell I hope--I'll try to enter; and if I am mistaken, 'tis but crying Con licentia.

[_Rings, enter_ Philippa. _Phil_. Who's there?

Sir _Sig_. 'Tis I, 'tis I, let me in quickly.--

_Phil_. Who--the _English_ Cavalier?

Sir _Sig_. The same--I am right--I see I was expected.

_Phil_. I'm glad you're come--give me your hand.--

Sir _Sig_. I am fortunate at last,--and therefore will say with the famous Poet.

_No Happiness like that atchicv'd with Danger, --Which once overcome--I lie at Rack and Manger_.

[_Exeunt_.

ACT IV.