Chapter XIII: Act IV: Scene I

Enter, _as aboard the Ship_, Guiliom, Isabella, Francisco, Julia,
Antonio, Clara, Jacinta, Pedro _and his Wife_, Pages.

_Guil_. Ladies and Gentlemen, you are very welcome aboard--Come, put off to Sea, Rogues, Scoundrels, Tarpaulins, to your Business, and then, every man his Bottle,--hey, Page, Rogues, where are my Men? Come, spread the Table--for we are very hungry.

_Isa_. Heav’ns, what a peculiar Grace there is in every word that comes from the Mouth of a Cavalier.

_Guil_. By _Mars_, the God of Love!

_Page_. By _Cupid_, Sir. [Aside to him.

Guil. _Cupid_, Sirrah! I say, I’ll have it _Mars_, there’s more Thunder in the Sound: I say, by _Mars_, these Gallies are pretty neat convenient Tenements--but a--I see ne’er a Chimney in ‘em:--Pox on’t, what have I to do with a Chimney now?

_Isa_. He is a delicate fine Person, _Jacinta_; but, methinks he does not make Love enough to me.

_Jac_. Oh, Madam, Persons of his Quality never make Love in Words, the greatness of their Actions show their Passion.

_Jac_. Ay, ‘tis true all the little Fellows talk of Love.

_Guil_. Come, Ladies, set; Come, _Isabella_, you are melancholy,--Page --Fill my Lady a Beer-glass.

_Isa_. Ah, Heav’ns, a Beer-glass.

_Guil_. O, your Viscountess never drinks under your Beer-glass, your Citizens Wives simper and sip, and will be drunk without doing Credit to the Treater; but in their Closets, they swinge it away, whole Slashes, i’faith, and egad, when a Woman drinks by her self, Glasses come thick about: your Gentlewoman, or your little Lady, drinks half way, and thinks in point of good manners, she must leave some at the bottom; but your true bred Woman of Honour drinks all, _Supernaculum_, by _Jove_.

_Isa_. What a misfortune it was, that I should not know this before, but shou’d discover my want of so necessary a piece of Grandeur.

_Jac_. And nothing, but being fuddled, will redeem her Credit.

_Guil_. Come--fall to, old Boy,--thou art not merry; what, have we none that can give us a Song?

_Ant_. Oh Sir, we have an Artist aboard I’ll assure you; Signior _Cashier_, shall I beg the favour of you to shew your Skill?

_Pet_. Sir, my Wife and I’m at your service.

_Guil_. Friend, what Language can you sing?

_Pet_. Oh, Sir, your Singers speak all Languages.

_Guil_. Say’st thou so, prithee then let’s have a touch of Heathen _Greek_.

_Pet_. That you shall, Sir, Sol la me fa sol, &c.

_Fran_. Hum, I think this is indeed Heathen _Greek_, I’m sure ‘tis so to me.

_Guil_. Ay, that may be, but I understand every word on’t.

_Fran_. Good lack, these Lords are very learned Men.

_Pet_. Now, Sir, you shall hear one of another Language from my Wife and I. [_Sing a Dialogue_ in French.

_Enter the_ Captain.

_Capt_. Well, Gentlemen, though the news be something unpleasant that I bring, yet to noble minds ‘tis sport and pastime.

_Guil_. Hah, Fellow! What’s that that’s sport and pastime to noble minds.

_Fran_. Oh Lord, no goodness, I’ll warrant.

_Capt_. But, Gentlemen, pluck up your Spirits, be bold and resolute.

_Fran_. Oh Lord, bold and resolute! why, what’s the matter, Captain?

_Capt_. You are old, Signior, and we expect no good from you but Prayers to Heaven?

_Fran_. Oh Lord, Prayers to Heaven! Why, I hope, Captain, we have no need to think of Heaven.

_Capt_. At your own Peril be it then, Signior, for the _Turks_ are coming upon us.

_Fran_. Oh Lord, Turks, Turks!

[_Ex_. Cap.

_Guil_. Turks, oh, is that all? [_Falls to eating_.

_Fran_. All--why, they’ll make Eunuchs of us, my Lord, Eunuchs of us poor men, and lie with all our Wives.

_Guil_. Shaw, that’s nothing, ‘tis good for the Voice.--how sweetly we shall sing, ta, la, ta la la, ta la, &c.

_Fran_. Ay, ‘twill make you sing another note, I’ll warrant you.

_Enter a Seaman_.

_Sea_. For Heaven’s sake, Sirs, do not stand idle here; Gentlemen, if you wou’d save your lives,--draw and defend ‘em. [_Exit_.

_Fran_. Draw! I never drew any thing in my Life, but my Purse, and that most damnably against my will; oh, what shall I do?

_Enter_ Captain.

_Capt_. Ah, my Lord, they bear up briskly to us, with a fresh Gale and full Sails.

_Fran_. Oh, dear Captain, let us tack about and go home again.

_Capt_. ‘Tis impossible to scape, we must fight it out.

_Fran_. Fight it out! oh, I’m not able to indure it,--why, what the Devil made me a ship-board?

[_Ex_. Cap.

_Guil_. Why, where be these _Turks_? set me to ‘em, I’ll make ‘em smoke, Dogs, to dare attack a man of Quality.

_Isa_. Oh, the Insolence of these _Turks_! do they know who’s aboard? for Heaven’s sake, my Lord, do not expose your noble Person.

_Guil_. What, not fight?--Not fight! A Lord, and not fight? Shall I submit to Fetters, and see my Mistress ravish’d by any great _Turk_ in Christendom, and not fight?

_Isa_. I’d rather be ravish’d a thousand times, than you should venture your Person.

[_Seamen shout within_.

_Fran_. Ay, I dare swear.

_Enter Seaman_.

_Sea_. Ah, Sirs, what mean you? Come on the Deck for shame.

_Ant_. My Lord, let us not tamely fall, there’s danger near. [_Draws_.

_Guil_. Ay, ay, there’s never smoke, but there’s some fire--Come, let’s away--ta la, tan ta la, la la, &c. [Draws.

[Exit _singing, and_ Antonio _and_ Pet.

_Fran_. A Pox of all Lords, I say, you must be janting in the Devil’s name, and God’s dry Ground wou’d not serve your turn. [_Shout here_. Oh, how they thunder! What shall I do?--oh, for some Auger-hole to thrust my head into, for I could never indure the noise of Cannons,--oh, ’.is insupportable,--intolerable--and not to be indur’d. [_Running as mad about the Stage_.

_Isa_. Dear Father, be not so frighted. [_Weeps_.

_Fran_. Ah, Crocodile, wou’d thou hadst wept thy Eyes out long ago, that thou hadst never seen this Count; then he had never lov’d thee, and then we had never been invited a ship-board. [_A noise of fighting_.

_Enter_ Guiliom, Pet. _and_ Antonio, driven in fighting
by Guzman _and other_ Turks.

_Ant_. Ah, Sir, the _Turks_ have boarded us, we’re lost, we’re lost.

_Fran_. Oh, I am slain, I’m slain. [_Falls down_.

_Guil_. Hold, hold, I say, you are now in the presence of Ladies, and ’.is uncivil to fight before Ladies.

_Guz_. Yield then, you are our Slaves.

_Guil_. Slaves, no Sir, we’re Slaves to none but the Ladies.
[_Offers to fight_.

_Isa_. Oh, hold, rude man,--d’ye know whom you encounter?

_Guz_. What’s here--one dead--
[_Looking on_ Francisco.

_Fran_. Oh, Lord!

_Guz_. Or, if he be not, he’s old, and past service, we’ll kill the Christian Dog out of the way.

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, I’m no Christian, Gentlemen; but as errant a Heathen as your selves.

_Guz_. Bind him strait, neck and heels, and clap him under hatches.

_Jul_. Oh, spare him, Sir, look on his Reverend Age.

_Guz_. For your sake, Lady, much may be done, we’ve need of handsom Women. [_Gives her to some Turks that are by_.

_Fran_. Hah,--my Wife! My Wife ravish’d--oh, I’m dead.

_Jul_. Fear not, my dear, I’ll rather die than do thee wrong.

_Fran_. Wou’d she wou’d, quickly,--then there’s her Honour sav’d, and her Ransom, which is better.

_Guz_. Down with the muttering Dog; [_He descends_. --And takes the Ladies to several Cabins. [_The Turks take hold of the Men_.

_Isa_. Must we be parted then?--ah, cruel Destiny! [_Weeps_.

_Guil_. Alas! this Separation’s worse than Death.

_Isa_. You possibly may see some _Turkish_ Ladies, that may insnare your Heart, and make you faithless;--but I, ah Heavens! if ever I change my Love, may I become deformed, and lose all hopes of Title or of Grandure.

_Guil_. But should the _Grand Seignior_ behold thy Beauty, thou wou’dst despise thine own dear hony Viscount to be a _Sultana_.

_Isa_. A _Sultana_, what’s that?

_Guil_. Why, ‘tis the great _Turk_, a Queen of _Turkey_.

_Isa_. These dear expressions go to my Heart. [_Weeps_. And yet a _Sultana_ is a tempting thing-- [_Aside smiling_. --And you shall find your Isabella true,--though the _Grand Seignior_ wou’d lay his Crown at my feet,--wou’d he wou’d try me though--Heavens! to be Queen of _Turkey_. [_Aside_.

_Guil_. May I believe thee,--but when thou seest the difference, alas, I am but a Chimney--hum, nothing to a great _Turk_.

_Isa_. Is he so rare a thing?--Oh, that I were a she great _Turk_.
[_Aside_.

_Guz_. Come, come, we can’t attend your amorous Parleys.
[_Parts ‘em_.

_Jul_. Alas, what shall we poor Women do?

[_Ex. Men_.

_Isa_. We must e’en have patience, Madam, and be ravisht.

_Cla_. Ravisht! Heavens forbid.

_Jac_. An please the Lord, I’ll let my nails grow against that direful day.

_Isa_. And so will I, for I’m resolv’d none should ravish me but the great _Turk_.

_Guz_. Come, Ladies, you are Dishes to be serv’d up to the board of the _Grand Seignior_.

_Isa_. Why, will he eat us all?

_Guz_. A slice of each, perhaps, as he finds his Appetite inclin’d.

_Isa_. A slice, uncivil Fellow,--as if this Beauty were for a bit and away;--Sir, a word,--if you will do me the favour, to recommend me to be first served up to the _Grand Seignior_, I shall remember the Civility when I am great.

_Guz_. Lady, he is his own Carver, a good word by the bye, or so, will do well, and I am--a Favorite--

_Isa_. Are you so? here, take this Jewel,--in earnest of greater Favours-- [_Gives him a Jewel_.

[Exeunt all.

SCENE II. _A Garden_.

_Enter Don Carlos and_ Lopez.

_Car_. But, why so near the Land? by Heaven, I saw each action of the Fight, from yonder grove of Jessamine; and doubtless all beheld it from the Town.

_Lop_. The Captain, Sir, design’d it so, and at the Harbour gave it out those two Galleys were purposely prepared to entertain the Count and the Ladies with the representation of a Sea-fight; lest the noise of the Guns should alarm the Town, and, taking it for a real fight, shou’d have sent out Supplies, and so have ruin’d our Designs.

_Car_. Well, have we all things in readiness?

_Lop_. All, Sir, all.

_Enter_ Page.

_Page_. My Lord, a Barge from the Galley is just arriv’d at the Garden-Stairs.

_Enter_ Guzman.

_Car_. I’ll retire then, and fit me for my part of this Farce.

_Guz_. My Lord, you must retire, they’re just bringing the Old Gentleman ashore.

_Car_. Prithee how does he take his Captivity?

_Guz_. Take it, Sir! he has cast himself into a Fit, and has lain like one in a Trance this half hour; ‘tis impossible for him to speak Sense this fortnight; I’ll secure his Reason a play-day for so long at least; your Servants, in _Turkish_ habits, are now his Guards, who will keep him safe enough from hindering your designs with _Julia_.

_Car_. Whatever you do, have a care you do not overfright the Coxcomb, and make a Tragedy of our Comedy.

_Guz_. I’ll warrant you, Sir, mind your Love-affairs,--he’s coming in,--retire, Sir.--

[_Ex_. Car. _and_ Page _and_ Lop.

_Enter some _Turks _with the body of _Francisco _in chains,
and lay him down on a Bank_.

1st _Turk_. Christian, so ho ho, Slave, awake.--
[_Rubbing and calling him_.

_Fran_. Hah! where am I?--my Wife,--my Wife--where am I?--hah! what are you?--Ghosts,--Devils,--Mutes,--no answer?--hah, bound in chains, --Slaves, where am I?

1st _Turk_. They understand not your Language; but I, who am a _Renegade Spaniard_, understand you when you speak civilly, which I advise you to do.

_Fran_. Do you know me, Friend?

1st _Turk_. I know you to be a Slave, and the Great _Turk’s_ Slave too.

_Fran_. The Great Turk,--the Great Devil, why, where am I, Friend?

1st _Turk_. Within the Territories of the _Grand Seignior_, and this a Palace of Pleasure, where he recreates himself with his Mistresses.

_Fran_. And how far is that from _Cadiz_?--but what care I? my Wife, Friend, my own Wife.

1st _Turk_. Your own,--a true Musselman cou’d have said no more; but take no care for her, she’s provided for.

_Fran_. Is she dead? That wou’d be some comfort.

1st _Turk_. No, she’s alive, and in good hands.

_Fran_. And in good hands! oh, my head! and, oh, my heart! ten thousand tempests burst the belly of this day, wherein old _Francisco_ ventur’d Life and Limbs, Liberty and Wife to the mercy of these Heathen _Turks_.

1st _Turk_. Friend, you need not thus complain; a good round Ransom redeems ye.

_Fran_. A round Ransom! I’ll rot in my chains first, before I’ll part with a round ransom.

1st _Turk_. You have a fair Wife, and need not fear good usage, if she knows how to be kind. You apprehend me.

_Fran_. Patience, good Lord.

1st _Turk_. Perhaps the _Grand Seignior_ may like her, and to be favour’d by him in such a Glory--

_Fran_. As the Devil take me if I desire.

1st _Turk_. And then you may in triumph laugh at all the rest of your Brother Cuckolds.

_Fran_. Hum, and has the Devil serv’d me thus?--but no matter, I must be gadding, like an old Coxcomb, to _Cadiz_,--and then, jaunting to Sea, with a Pox, to take pains to be a Cuckold, to bring my Wife into a strange Land, amongst Unbelievers, with a vengeance, as if we had not honest Christian Cuckold-makers enough at home; Sot that I was, not to consider how many Merchants have been undone by trusting their Commodities out at Sea; why, what a damn’d ransom will the Rogues exact from me, and more for my Wife, because she’s handsome; and then, ‘tis ten to one, I have her turned upon my hands the worse for wearing; oh, damn’d Infidels! no, ‘tis resolv’d, I’ll live a Slave here, rather than enrich them.

1st _Turk_. Friend, you’ll know your Destiny presently; for ‘tis the custom of the Great _Turk_ to view the Captives, and consider of their Ransoms and Liberties, according to his pleasure. See, he is coming forth with the _Vizier Bassa_.

_Enter_ Carlos _and_ Guzman _as_ Turks _with Followers_.

Most mighty Emperor, behold your Captive.

_Fran_. Is this the Great _Turk_?

1st _Turk_. Peace.

_Fran_. Bless me! as we at home describe him, I thought the Great _Turk_ had been twice as big; but I shall find him Tyrant big enough, I’ll warrant him.

_Guz_. Of what Nation art thou, Slave? speak to the Emperor, he understands thee, though he deign not to hold discourse with Christian Dogs.

_Fran_. Oh fearful!--_Spain_, so please you, Sir.

_Guz_. By _Mahomet_, he’ll make a reverend Eunuch.

_Fran_. An Eunuch! oh, Lord!

_Turk_. Ay, Sir, to guard his Mistresses, ‘tis an honour.

_Fran_. Oh! Mercy, Sir, that honour you may spare, Age has done my business already.

_Guz_. Fellow, what art?

_Fran_. An’t please your Worship, I cannot tell.

_Guz_. How, not tell?

_Fran_. An’t please your Lordship, my Fears have so transform’d me, I cannot tell whether I’m any thing or nothing.

_Guz_. Thy name, dull Mortal, know’st thou not that?

_Fran_. An’t please your Grace, now I remember me, methinks I do.

_Guz_. Dog, how art thou call’d?

_Fran_. An’t like your Excellence, Men call’d me Signior Don _Francisco_, but now they will call me Coxcomb.

_Guz_. Of what Trade?

_Fran_. An’t please your Highness, a Gentleman.

_Guz_. How much dost thou get a day by that Trade? Hah!

_Fran_. An’t like your Majesty, our Gentlemen never get but twice in all their lives; that is, when Fathers die, they get good Estates; and when they marry, they get rich Wives: but I know what your Mightiness wou’d get by going into my Country and asking the Question.

_Guz_. What, Fool?

_Fran_. A good Cudgelling, an’t please your Illustriousness.

_Guz_. Slave! To my Face!--Take him away, and let him have the Strapado.

_Car_. _Baridama, Dermack_.

_Fran_. Heavens, what says he?

_I Turk_. He means to have you castrated.

_Fran_. Castrated! Oh, that’s some dreadful thing, I’ll warrant,-- Gracious Great Turk, for Mahomet’s sake, excuse me; alas, I’ve lost my wits.

_Car_. _Galero Gardines_?

_Guz_. The Emperor asks if thou art married, Fellow.

_Fran_. Hah--Married--I was, an’t like your Monsterousness, but, I doubt, your People have spoiled my Property.

_Guz_. His Wife, with other Ladies, in a Pavillion in the Garden, attend your Royal pleasure.

_Car_. Go, fetch her hither presently.

[_Ex_. Guz.

1st _Turk_. This is no common Honour, that the Great Turk deigns to speak your Language; ‘tis to sign you’ll rise.

_Fran_. Yes, by the height of a pair of Horns.

_Car_. Is she handsom?

_Fran_. Oh, what an Ague shakes my Heart,--handsom! alas, no, dread Sir; what shou’d such a deform’d Polecat as I do with a handsom Wife?

_Car_. Is she young?

_Fran_. Young, what shou’d such an old doting Coxcomb as I do with a young Wife? Pox on him for a Heathen Whoremaster.

_Car_. Old is she then?

_Fran_. Ay, very old, an’t please your Gloriousness.

_Car_. Is she not capable of Love?

_Fran_. Hum, so, so,--like Fire conceal’d in a Tinderbox,--I shall run mad.

_Car_. Is she witty?

_Fran_. I’m no competent Judge, an’t like your Holiness, --This Catechism was certainly of the Devil’s own making. [Aside.

_Enter_ Guzman, _bringing in_ Julia, Clara, Isabella, Jacinta,
Guiliom, Antonio, &c. _Women veil’d_.

_Car_. These, Sir, are all the Slaves of Note are taken.

_Isa_. Dost think, _Jacinta_, he’ll chuse me?

_Jac_. I’ll warrant you, Madam, if he looks with my Eyes.

_Guz_. Stand forth. [_To the Men_.

_Guil_. Stand forth, Sir! why, so I can, Sir, I dare show my Face, Sir, before any Great _Turk_ in Christendom.

_Car_. What are you, Sir?

_Guil_. What am I, Sir? Why, I’m a Lord, a Lord.

_Fran_. What, are you mad to own your Quality, he’ll ask the Devil and all of a ransom.

_Guil_. No matter for that, I’ll not lose an Inch of my Quality for a King’s ransom; disgrace my self before my fair Mistress!

_Isa_. That’s as the _Great Turk_ and I shall agree. [_Scornfully_.

_Car_. What are you, Sir?

_Ant_. A Citizen of _Cadiz_.

_Car_. Set ‘em by, we’ll consider of their ransoms--now unveil the Ladies. [Guzman _unveils_ Jacinta.

_Fran_. Oh, dear Wife, now or never show thy Love, make a damnable face upon the filthy Ravisher,--glout thy Eyes thus--and thrust out thy upper lip, thus.-- [Guzman _presents_ Jacinta.

_Guil_. Oh, dear _Isabella_, do thee look like a Dog too.

_Isa_. No, Sir, I’m resolv’d I’ll not lose an Inch of my Beauty, to save so trifling a thing as a Maiden head.

_Car_. Very agreeable, pretty and chearful--

[_She is veil’d and set by: Then Clara is unveil’d_.

A most divine bud of Beauty--all Nature’s Excellence--drawn to the life in little,--what are you, fair one?

_Cla_. Sir, I’m a Maid.

_Fran_. So, I hope he will pitch upon her.

_Cla_. Only, by promise, Sir, I’ve given my self away.

_Car_. What happy Man cou’d claim a title in thee, And trust thee to such danger?

_Isa_. Heavens, shall I be defeated by this little Creature? What pity ’.was he saw me not first?

_Cla_. I dare not name him, Sir, lest this small Beauty which you say adorns me, shou’d gain him your displeasure; he’s in your presence, Sir, and is your Slave.

_Car_. Such Innocence this plain Confession shows, name me the man, and I’ll resign thee back to him.

_Fran_. A Pox of his Civility.

_Ant_. This Mercy makes me bold to claim my right. [_Kneels_.

_Car_. Take her, young Man, and with it both your Ransoms.

_Guil_. Hum--hum--very noble, i’faith, we’ll e’en confess our loves too, _Isabella_.

_Isa_. S’life, he’ll spoil all,--hold--pray let your Betters be serv’d before you.

_Guil_. How! Is the Honour of my Love despised?--wer’t not i’th presence of the Great _Turk_, for whom I have a reverence because he’s a man of quality--by _Jove_, I’d draw upon you.

_Isa_. Because you were my Lover once, when I’m Queen I’ll pardon you.

[Guzman _unveils her, and leads her to_ Carlos, _she making
ridiculous actions of Civility_.

_Car_. What aukard, fond, conceited thing art thou? Veil her, and take the taudry Creature hence.

_Guil_. Hum--your Majesty’s humble Servant.
[_Putting off his Hat ridiculously_.

_Fran_. How! refuse my Daughter too! I see the Lot of a Cuckold will fall to my share.

_Guz_. This is the Wife, Great Sir, of this old Slave.
[_Unveils_ Julia.

_Car_. Hah! what do I see, by _Mahomet_, she’s fair.

_Fran_. So, so, she’s condemn’d; oh, damn’d _Mahometan_ Cannibal! will nothing but raw flesh serve his turn.

_Car_. I’ll see no more,--here I have fix’d my heart.

_Fran_. Oh, Monster of a _Grand Seignior_!

_Guz_. Have you a mind to be flead, Sir?

_Car_. Receive my Handkerchief. [_Throws it to her_.

_Fran_. His Handkerchief! bless me, what does he mean?

_Guz_. To do her the honour to lie with her to night.

_Fran_. Oh, hold, most mighty _Turk_. [_Kneeling_.

_Guz_. Slave, darest thou interrupt ‘em,--die, Dog.

_Fran_. Hold, hold, I’m silent.

_Car_. I love you, fair one, and design to make you--

_Fran_. A most notorious Strumpet. A Pox of his Courtesy.

_Car_. What Eyes you have like Heaven blue and charming, a pretty Mouth, Neck round and white as polisht Alabaster, and a Complexion beauteous as an Angel, a Hair fit to make Bonds to insnare the God of Love,--a sprightly Air,--a Hand like Lillies white, and Lips, no Roses opening in a Morning are half so sweet and soft.

_Fran_. Oh, damn’d circumcised _Turk_.

_Car_. You shall be call’d the beautiful _Sultana_, And rule in my Seraglio drest with Jewels.

_Fran_. Sure, I shall burst with Vengeance.

_Jul_. Sir, let your Virtue regulate your Passions; For I can ne’er love any but my Husband.

_Fran_. Ah, dissembling Witch!

_Jul_. And wou’d not break my Marriage Vows to him, For all the honour you can heap upon me.

_Fran_. Say, and hold; but _Sultana_ and precious Stones are damnable Temptations,--besides, the Rogue’s young and handsome,--What a scornful look she casts at me; wou’d they were both handsomely at the Devil together.

_Guz_. Dog, do you mutter?

_Fran_. Oh! nothing, nothing, but the Palsy shook my Lips a little.

_Guz_. Slave, go, and on your knees resign your Wife.

_Fran_. She’s of years of discretion, and may dispose of her self; but I can hold no longer: and is this your _Mahometan_ Conscience, to take other Mens Wives, as if there were not single Harlots enough in the World? [_In rage_.

_Guz_. Peace, thou diminutive Christian.

_Fran_. I say, Peace thou over-grown _Turk_.

_Guz_. Thou _Spanish_ Cur.

_Fran_. Why, you’re a _Mahometan_ Bitch, and you go to that.

_Guz_. Death, I’ll dissect the bald-pated Slave.

_Fran_. I defy thee, thou foul filthy Cabbage-head, for I am mad, and will be valiant.

[Guz. _throws his Turbant at him_.

_Car_. What Insolence is this!--Mutes--strangle him.--

[_They put a Bow-string about his neck_.

_Jul_. Mercy, dread Sir, I beg my Husband’s life.

_Car_. No more,--this fair one bids you live,--henceforth, _Francisco_, I pronounce you a Widower, and shall regard you, for the time to come, as the deceased Husband of the Great _Sultana_, murmur not upon pain of being made an Eunuch--take him away.

_Jul_. Go, and be satisfied, I’ll die before I’ll yield.

_Fran_. Is this my going to Sea?--the Plague of losing Battels light on thee.

_When ill success shall make thee idle lie,
Mayst thou in bed be impotent as I_.

_Car_. Command our Slaves to give us some diversion; Dismiss his Chains, and use him with respect, because he was the Husband of our beloved _Sultana_.

_Fran_. I see your Cuckold might have a life good enough if he cou’d be contented. [_They pull off his Chains_.

[Carlos _and_ Julia _sit under an Umbrella_.

The SONG.

_How strangely does my Passion grow,
Divided equally twixt two_?
Damon _had ne’er subdued my Heart,
Had not_ Alexis _took his part:
Nor cou’d_ Alexis_ powerful prove,
Without my_ Damon’s _aid, to gain my Love.

When my_ Alexis _present is,
Then I for_ Damon _sigh and mourn;
But when_ Alexis _I do miss_,
Damon _gains nothing but my Scorn:
And, if it chance they both are by,
For both, alas! I languish, sigh, and die.

Cure then, thou mighty winged God,
This raging Fever in my Blood.
One golden-pointed Dart take back;
But which, O_ Cupid, _wilt thou take?
if_ Damon’s, _all my hopes are crost:
Or, that of my_ Alexis, _I am lost_.

_Enter Dancers, which dance an Antick_.

_Car_. Come, my dear _Julia_, let’s retire to shades. [_Aside to her_. Where only thou and I can find an entrance; These dull, these necessary delays of ours Have drawn my Love to an impatient height. --Attend these Captives, at a respectful distance.

[_Ex. all but _Isa_. who stays_ Guil.

_Guil_. What wou’d the Great _Sultana_?

_Isa_. Ah! do not pierce my Heart with this unkindness.

_Guil_. Ha, ha, ha,--Pages,--give order, I have Letters writ to _Sevil_, to my Merchant,--I will be ransomed instantly.

_Isa_. Ah, cruel Count!

_Guil_. Meaning me, Lady! ah, fy! no, I am a Scoundrel; I a Count, no, not I, a Dog, a very Chim--hum,--a Son of a Whore, I, not worthy your notice.

_Isa_. Oh, Heavens! must I lose you then? no, I’ll die first.

_Guil_. Die, die, then; for your Betters must be served before you.

_Isa_. Oh! I shall rave; false and lovely as you are, did you not swear to marry me, and make me a Viscountess.

_Guil_. Ay, that was once when I was a Lover; but, now you are a Queen, you’re too high i’th’ mouth for me.

_Isa_. Ah! name it not; will you be still hard-hearted?

_Guil_. As a Flint, by _Jove_.

_Isa_. Have you forgot your Love?

_Guil_. I’ve a bad memory.

_Isa_. And will you let me die?

_Guil_. I know nothing of the matter.

_Isa_. Oh Heavens! and shall I be no Viscountess?

_Guil_. Not for me, fair Lady, by _Jupiter_,--no, no,--Queen’s much better,--Death, affront a man of Honour, a Viscount that wou’d have took you to his Bed,--after half the Town had blown upon you,--without examining either Portion or Honesty, and wou’d have took you for better for worse--Death, I’ll untile Houses, and demolish Chimneys, but I’ll be revenged. [_Draws and is going out_.

_Isa_. Ah, hold! your Anger’s just, I must confess: yet pardon the frailty of my Sex’s vanity; behold my Tears that sue for pity to you.

[_She weeps, he stands looking on her_.

_Guil_. My rage dissolves.

_Isa_. I ask but Death, or Pity. [_He weeps_.

_Guil_. I cannot hold;--but if I shou’d forgive, and marry you, you wou’d be gadding after honour still, longing to be a she Great _Turk_ again.

_Isa_. Break not my heart with such suspicions of me.

_Gull_. And is it pure and tender Love for my Person, And not for my glorious Titles?

_Isa_. Name not your Titles, ‘tis your self I love, Your amiable, sweet and charming self, And I cou’d almost wish you were not great, To let you see my Love.

_Guil_. I am confirm’d--

_’.is no respect of Honour makes her weep_;
_Her Loves the same shou’d I cry--Chimney Sweep.

[_Ex_.