The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Ii Part 95

[_Looks towards the Door_.

--He is not yet come--

_Tick_. Not yet come--that must be _Barberacho!_-- Where are ye, honest _Barberacho_, where are ye?

[_Groping towards_ Gal.

_Gal_. Hah! _Barberacho?_ that Name I am sure is us'd by none but Sir _Signal_ and his c.o.xcomb Tutor; it must be one of those--Where are ye, Signior, where are ye?

[_Goes towards him, and opens the Lanthorn--and shuts it strait_.

--Oh, 'tis the Knight,--are you there, Signior?

_Tick_. Oh, art thou come, honest Rascal--conduct me quickly, conduct me to the beautiful and fair _Silvianetta_.

[_Gives him his Hand_.

_Gal_. Yes, when your Dogs.h.i.+p's d.a.m.n'd. _Silvianetta!_ Sdeath, is she a Wh.o.r.e for Fools? [_Draws_.

_Tick_. Hah, Mr. _Galliard_, as the Devil would have it;--I'm undone if he sees me.

[_He retires hastily_, Gal. _gropes for him_.

_Gal_. Where are you, Fop? Buffoon! Knight!

[Tickletext _retiring hastily runs against_ Octavio, _who is just entering, almost beats him down_; Oct. _strikes him a good blow, beats him back and draws_: Tick, _gets close up in a corner of the Stage_; Oct. _gropes for him, as_ Gal. _does, and both meet and fight with each other_.

--What, dare you draw,--you have the impudence to be valiant then in the dark, [_they pa.s.s_.] I wou'd not kill the Rogue,--'Sdeath, you can fight then, when there's a Woman in the case!

_Oct_. I hope 'tis _Fillarnour_; [_Aside_.] You'll find I can, and possibly may spoil your making Love to night.

_Gal_. Egad, Sweet-heart, and that may be, one civil Thrust will do't;-- and 'twere a d.a.m.n'd rude thing to disappoint so fine a Woman,--therefore I'll withdraw whilst I'm well.

[_He slips out_.

_Enter Sir_ Signal, _with a Masquerading Coat over his Clothes, without a Wig or Crevat, with a dark Lanthorn_.

Sir _Sig_. Well, I have most neatly escap'd my Tutor; and in this disguise defy the Devil to claim his own.--Ah, _Caspeto de Deavilo_;-- What's that?

[_Advancing softly, and groping with his hands, meets the point of_ Oct. _Sword, as he is groping for_ Gal.

_Oct_. Traitor, darest thou not stand my Sword?

Sir _Sig_. Hah! Swords! no, Signior--_scusa mea_, Signioir,--

[_Hops to the door: And feeling for his way with his out-stretcht Arms, runs his Lanthorn in_ Julio's _face, who is just entring; finds he's oppos'd with a good push backward, and slips aside into a corner over-against_ Tickletext; Julio _meets_ Octavio, _and fights him_; Oct. _falls_, Julio _opens his Lanthorn, and sees his mistake_.

_Jut_. Is it you, Sir?

_Oct_. _Julio_! From what Mistake grew all this Violence?

_Jul_. That I shou'd ask of you, who meet you arm'd against me.

_Oct_. I find the Night has equally deceiv'd us; and you are fitly come to share with me the hopes of dear Revenge.

[_Gropes for his Lanthorn, which is dropt_.

_Jul_. I'd rather have pursu'd my kinder Pa.s.sion, Love, and Desire, that brought me forth to night.

_Oct_. I've learnt where my false Rival is to be this Evening; And if you'll join your Sword, you'll find it well employ'd.

_Jul_. Lead on, I'm as impatient of Revenge as you.--

_Oct_. Come this way then, you'll find more Aids to serve us.

[_Go out_.

_Tick_.--So! Thanks be prais'd, all's still again, this Fright were enough to mortify any Lover of less magnanimity than my self.--Well, of all Sins, this itch of Whoring is the most hardy,--the most impudent in Repulses, the most vigilant in watching, most patient in waiting, most frequent in Dangers; in all Disasters but Disappointment, a Philosopher; yet if _Barberacho_ come not quickly, my Philosophy will be put to't, _certo_.

[_This while Sir_ Signal _is venturing from his Post, listening, and slowly advancing towards the middle of the Stage_.

Sir _Sig_. The Coast is once more clear, and I may venture my Carcase forth again,--though such a Salutation as the last, wou'd make me very unfit for the matter in hand.--The Battoon I cou'd bear with the Fort.i.tude and Courage of a Hero: But these dangerous Sharps I never lov'd. What different Rencounters have I met withal to night, _Corpo de me_? A Man may more safely pa.s.s the Gulf of _Lyons_, than convoy himself into a Baudy-House in _Rome_; but I hope all's past, and I will say with _Alexander,--Vivat Esperance en despetto del Fatto_.

[_Advances a little_.

_Tick_. Sure I heard a noise;--No, 'twas only my surmise.

[_They both advance softly, meeting just in the middle of the Stage, and coming close up to each other; both cautiously start back, and stand a tipto in the posture of Fear, then gently feeling for each other, (after listening and hearing no Noise) draw back their Hands at touching each other's; and shrinking up their Shoulders, make grimaces of more Fear_.

_Tick_. _Que Equesto_.

Sir _Sig_. Hah, a Man's Voice!--I'll try if I can fright him hence.

[_Aside_.

_Una Malladette Spiritto Incarnate_.

[_In a horrible tone_.

_Tick_. Hah, _Spiritto Incarnate_! that Devil's Voice I shou'd know.

[_Aside_.

Sir _Sig_. See, Signior! _Una Spiritto_, which is to say, _un Spiritalo, Immortallo, Incorporallo, Inanimate, Immaterialle, Philosophicale, Invisible--Unintelligible--Diavillo_.

[_In the same tone_.

_Tick_. Ay, ay, 'tis my hopeful Pupil, upon the same design with me, my life on't,--cunning young Wh.o.r.e-master;--I'll cool your Courage--good Signior _Diavillo_; if you be the _Diavillo_, I have _una certaina Immaterial Invisible Conjuratione_, that will so neatly lay your _Inanimate unintelligible Diavillos.h.i.+p_.-- [_Pulls out his wooden Sword_.

Sir _Sig_. How! he must needs be valiant indeed that dares fight with the Devil.

[_Endeavours to get away_, Tick, _beats him about the Stage_.]

--Ah, Signior, Signior, _Mia_! ah--_Caspeto de Baccus--he cornuto_, I am a d.a.m.n'd silly Devil that have no dexterity in vanis.h.i.+ng.

[_Gropes and finds the Door--going out, meets just entring_ Fillamour, Galliard _with all the Musick--he retires, and stands close_.

--Hah,--what have we here, new Mischief?--

[Tick. _and he stands against each other, on either side of the Stage_.

_Fil_. Prithee how came we to lose ye?

_Gal_. I thought I had follow'd ye--but 'tis well we are met again. Come tune your Pipes.-- [_They play a little, enter_ Marcella _as before_.