ALL night with Clara say'st thou? that was lucky; but was she kind, my friend?

A very moderate Lover.

For some part of my Vertue, Sir, I owe to you, in midst of all my Love, even in the kindest moments of delight, my joys were broken by concern for you.

—Julia this day, or very suddainly, leaves Cadez.

By Heaven, and so will Carlos then, for I'm so resolutely bent to possess that dear creature,

And how wou'd you reward that politique head, that shou'd contrive the means to bring this hansomly about; not for an hour, or a night, but even as long as you please, with freedom; without the danger of venturing your honourable neck, in showing feats of activitie three stories high, with a Dagger in one hand and a Pistol in t'other, like a Rope-dancer?

But how? thou talkest of impossibilities.

Dost think she'll e'er consent to quit her Husband?

No, Heaven forbid, I am too good a Christian to par: man and wife; but being naturally inclin'd to works of Charity, I will with one project I have in this noddle of mine,—make old Francisco a Cuckold, accommodate my Lord and Julia, serve you, Sir,—and give our selves a good Scene of mirth.

Thou amazests me.

If I doe't not, send me to the Galleys, nay, and so far cure the jealousie of the old Fellow, that from a rigid suspici∣ous troublesome Fool, he shall become so tame and gentle a Husband,—that he shall desire you to favour him so much as to lie with his dear Wife.

By what strange Witchcraft shall this be brought to pass?

E'n honest invention, Sir, good Faith, listen and believe:——When he goes, he certainly 〈◊〉 by Sea, to save the charges of Mules.

Right, I heard him say so; in the 〈◊〉 that lies in the Port.

Good, there is a Galley also, in the Harbour, you lately took from the Turks; habits too were taken in her e∣nough to furnish out some forty or fifty as convenient Turks as a man wou'd wish at the Devil.

Ah Rogue, I begin to apprehend already.

Our Turkish Galley thus man'd, I'll put to Sea, and a∣bout a League from Land, with a sham-fight, set on that of old Francisco, take it, make 'em all slaves, clap the old Fellow under hatches, and then you may deal with the fair slave his Wife, as Adam did with Eve.

I'm ravisht with the thought.

But what will be the event of this?

I will not look so far, but stop at the dear Joys, and Fear no Fate beyond 'em.

Nay, with a little Cudgelling this dull Brain of mine, I shall advance it Farther for the Jest sake;—as I take it, Seignior Don Antonio, you have a fine Villa, within a Bow shot of this City belonging to your self.

I have, with pleasant Gardens, Grotto's, Water-works.—

A most admirable Scene for Love and our designs.

'Tis yours, Sir.

Then, Sir, when we have taken this old Fool, on whom the grosest cheat wou'd pass, much more this, which shall carry so seeming a Truth in't, he being clapt under hatches in the Dark, we'll wind round a league or two at Sea, turn in, and Land at this Garden, Sir, of yours, which we'll pretend to be a Seraglio belonging to the Grand Seignior; whither, in this hot part o'th year, he goes to Regale himself with his She Slaves.

But the Distance of Place and Time allow not such a Falacie.

Why, he never read in's life; knows neither Longitude nor Latitude, and Constantinople may be in the midst of Spain for any thing he knows; besides, his Fear will give him little Leasure for thinking.

But how shall we doe with the Seamen of this other Gally?

There's not above a Dozen, besides the Slaves that are chain'd to the Oar, and those Dozen, a Pistoll a piece wou'd not onely make 'em assist in the Design, but betray it in earnest to the Grand Seignior;—for them I'll undertake, the Master of it being Pier de 〈◊〉 your Fathers Old Servant, Sir.

But possibly his mind may alter upon the Arrival of this false Count of ours?

No matter, make sure of those Seamen however; that they may be ready upon occasion.

'Tis high time for me, that your Count were arriv'd, for this Morning is destin'd the last of my Liberty.

This Morning—Come haste and dress me—

—Guzman, where's our Count?

Coming to give you the good Morrow, Sir. And shew you how well he looks the Part.

Good day to your Lordship—

Morrow, morrow friend.

My Lord, your most humble servant.

Thank you friend, thank you; Page, Boy—what'st a Clock Sirrah?

About Eight, my Lord.

Your Lordship's early up?

My stomach was up before me, friend; and I'm dam∣nable hungry; 'tis strange how a man's Appetite increases with his Greatness; I'll swinge it away now I'm a Lord,—then I will wench without mercy; I'm Resolv'd to spare neither man, Woman, nor Child, not I; hey Rogues, Rascalls, Boys, my Breakfast, quickly Dogs—let me see what shall I have now that's Rare?

What will your Honour please to have?

A small rasher of delicate Bacon, Sirrah—of about a Pound, or two, with a small Morcel of bread—round the Loaf, d'ye hear, quickly Slaves.

That's grose meat, Sir, a pair of Quails—or—

I thank you for that i'faith, take your Don again, an you, please, I'll not be starv'd for nere a Don in Christiandom.

But you must study to refine your manners a little.

Manners, you shall pardon me for that, as if a Lord had not more privilege to be more sawey, more rude, imper∣tinent, slovenly and foolish than the rest of his Neighbours, or man-kind.

Ay, ay 'tis great.

Your sawey Rudeness, in a Grandee, is Freedom; your Impertinence, Wit; your Sloven, Careless; and your Fool, good Natur'd, at least they shall pass so in me, I'll warrant yee.

Well, you have your full instructions; your Baggage, Bills and Letters, from Octavio the Sivilian Merchant.

All, all, Sir, are ready, and his Lordship's breakfast waits.

Hey Rogues, Rascalls, Boys, follow me just behind.