Pet. Ah che Bella! Bella! I swear by these sparkling Eyes and these soft plump dimpled Cheeks, there’s not a Signiora in all Rome, cou’d she behold ‘em, were able to stand their Temptations; and for La Silvianetta, my life on’t, she’s your own.

Tick. Teze, teze, speak softly; but, honest Barberacho, do I, do I indeed look plump, and young, and fresh and—hah!

Pet. Ay, Sir, as the rosy Morn, young as old Time in his Infancy, and plump as the pale-fac’d Moon.

Tick. He—Why, this Travelling must needs improve a Man—Why, how admirably well-spoken your very Barbers are here—[Aside.]—But, Barberacho, did the young Gentlewoman say she lik’d me? did she, Rogue? did she?

Pet. A doated on you Signior, doated on you.

Tick. Why, and that’s strange now, in the Autumn of my Age too, when Nature began to be impertinent, as a Man may say, that a young Lady shou’d fall in love with me—[Aside.] Why, Barberacho, I do not conceive any great matter of Sin only in visiting a Lady that loves a man, hah.

Pet. Sin, Sir! ‘tis a frequent thing now-a-days in Persons of your Complexion.

Tick. Especially here at Rome too, where ‘tis no scandal.

Pet. Ah, Signior, where the Ladies are privileg’d and Fornication licensed.

Tick. Right! and when ‘tis licens’d, ‘tis lawful; and when ‘tis lawful, it can be no Sin: besides, Barberacho, I may chance to turn her, who knows?

Pet. Turn her, Signior, alas, any way, which way you please.

Tick. He, he, he! There thou wert knavish, I doubt—but I mean convert her—nothing else I profess, Barberacho.

Pet. True, Signior, true, she’s a Lady of an easy nature, and an indifferent Argument well handled will do’t—ha—here’s your head of Hair—here’s your natural [combing out his Hair.] Frize! And such an Air it gives the Face!—So, Signior—Now you have the utmost my Art can do. [Takes away the Cloth, and bows.

Tick. Well, Signior,—and where’s your Looking-glass?

Pet. My Looking-glass!

Tick. Yes, Signior, your Looking-glass! an English Barber wou’d as soon have forgotten to have snapt his fingers, made his leg, or taken his Money, as have neglected his Looking-glass.

Pet. Ay, Signior, in your Country the Laity have so little Honesty, they are not to be trusted with the taking off your Beard unless you see’t done:—but here’s a Glass, Sir. [Gives him the Glass.

[Tick. sets himself and smirks in the Glass, Pet. standing behind him, making horns and grimaces, which Tick. sees in the Glass, gravely rises, turns towards Petro.

Tick. Why, how now, Barberacho, what monstrous Faces are you making there?

Pet. All, my Belly, my Belly, Signior: ah, this Wind-Cholick! this Hypocondriack does so torment me! ah—

Tick. Alas, poor Knave; certo, I thought thou hadst been somewhat uncivil with me, I profess I did.

Pet. Who, I, Sir, uncivil?—I abuse my Patrone!—I that have almost made my self a Pimp to serve you?

Tick. Teze, teze, honest Barberacho! no, no, no, all’s well, all’s well:—but hark ye—you will be discreet and secret in this business now, and above all things conceal the knowledge of this Gentlewoman from Sir Signal and Mr. Galliard.

Pet. The Rack, Signior, the Rack shall not extort it.

Tick. Hold thy Hand—there’s somewhat for thee, [Gives him Money.] but shall I, Rogue—shall I see her to night?—

Pet. To night, Sir, meet me in the Piazza D’Hispagnia, about ten a Clock,—I’ll meet you there,—but ‘tis fit, Signior—that I should provide a Collation,—’tis the custom here, Sir.—

Tick. Well, well, what will it come to?—here’s an Angel.—

Pet. Why, Sir, ‘twill come to—about—for you wou’d do’t handsomely— some twenty Crowns.—

Tick. How, man, twenty Crowns!

Pet. Ay, Signior, thereabouts.

Tick. Twenty Crowns!—Why, ‘tis a Sum, a Portion, a Revenue.

Pet. Alas, Signior, ‘tis nothing with her,—she’ll look it out in an hour,—ah, such an Eye, so sparkling, with an amorous Twire—Then, Sir— she’ll kiss it out in a moment,—such a Lip, so red, so round, so plump, so soft, and so—

Tick. Why, has she, has she, Sirrah—hah—here, here, prithee take money, here, and make no words on’t—go, go your way, go—But to entertain Sir Signal with other matter, pray send his Masters to him; if thou canst help him to Masters, and me to Mistresses, thou shalt be the good Genius of us both: but see where he comes—

Enter Sir Signal.

Sir Sig. Hah! Signior Illustrissimo Barberacho, let me hug thee, my little Miphistophiloucho—de ye see here, how fine your Brokering Jew has made me, Signior Rabbi Manaseth—Ben—Nebiton, and so forth; hah— view me round— [Turns round.

Tick. I profess ‘tis as fit as if it had been made for you.

Sir Sig. Made for me—Why, Sir, he swore to me by the old Law, that ’.was never worn but once, and that but by one High-German Prince—I have forgot his name—for the Devil can never remember a fart these dam’d Hogan-Mogan Titles.

Tick. No matter, Sir.

Sir Sig. Ay, but I shou’d be loth to be in any man’s Clothes, were he never so high a German Prince—except I knew his name though.

Tick. Sir, I hold his name unnecessary to be remembred, so long as ’.was a princely Penniworth.—Barberacho, get you gone, and send the Masters. [Ex. Petro.

Sir Sig. Why, how now, Governour? how now, Signior Tickletext! prithee how camest thou so transmogrified, ha? why, thou look’st like any new-fledg’d Cupid.

Tick. Do I? away, you flatter; do I?

Sir Sig. As I hope to breathe, your Face shines through your pouder’d Hairs, like you know what on a Barn-door in a frosty morning.

Tick. What a filthy comparison there for a man of my Coat?

Sir Sig. What, angry—Corpo di me, I meant no harm,—Come, shall’s to a Bonaroba, where thou shalt part with thy Pusilage, and that of thy Beard together?

Tick. How mean you, Sir, a Curtezan, and a Romish Curtezan?

Sir Sig. Now my Tutor’s up, ha, ha, ha—and ever is when one names a Whore; be pacify’d, Man, be pacify’d, I know thou hat’st ‘em worse than Beads or Holy-water.

Tick. Away, you are such another Knight—but leave this naughty discourse, and prepare for your Fencing and Civility-Masters, who are coming.

Sir Sig. Ay, when, Governour, when? Oh, how I long for my Civility-Master, that I may learn to out-complement all the dull Knights and Squires in Kent, with a Servitore Hulichimo—No Signiora Bellissima, base le Mane de vos Signiora scusa mia Illustrissimo, caspeto de Bacco, and so I’ll run on, hah, Governour, hah! won’t this be pure?

Tick. Notably ingenious, I profess.

Sir Sig. Well, I’ll send my Staffiera for him incontinente.—he, Jack—a—Cazo, what a damned English name is Jack? let me see—I will call him Giovanni—which is as much as to say John!—he Giovanni.

Enter Jack.

Tick. Sir, by your favour, his English Protestant Name is John Pepper, and I’ll call him by ne’er a Popish Name in Christendom.

Sir Sig. I’ll call my own man, Sir, by what name I please, Sir; and let me tell you, Reverend Mr. Tickletext, I scorn to be served by any man whose name has not an Acho or an Oucho, or some Italiano at the end on’t—therefore Giovanni Peperacho is the name by which you shall be distinguish’d and dignify’d hereafter.

Tick. Sir Signal, Sir Signal, let me tell you, that to call a man out of his name is unwarrantable, for Peter is call’d Peter, and John John; and I’ll not see the poor Fellow wrong’d of his Name for ne’er a Giovanni in Rome.

Sir Sig. Sir, I tell you that one Italian Name is worth any two English Names in Europe, and I’ll be judg’d by my Civility-Master.

Tick. Who shall end the dispute if he be of my opinion?

Sir Sig. Multo voluntiero, which is as much as to say, with all my heart.

Jack. But, Sir, my Grandmother wou’d never own me, if I should change the cursen Name she gave me with her own hands, an’t please your Worship.

Sir Sig. He Bestia! I’ll have no more of your Worship, Sirrah, that old English Sir Reverence, let me have you call me Signior Illustrissimo or Patrona Mea_—or—

Tick. Ay, that I like well enough now:—but hold, sure this is one of your Masters.

Enter Petro drest like a French Fencing-Master.

Pet. Signior Barberacho has sent me to teach you de Art of Fencing.

Sir Sig. Illustrissimo Signior Monsieur, I am the Person who am to learn.

Tick. Stay, Sir, stay—let me ask him some few questions first: for, Sir, I have play’d at Back-Sword, and cou’d have handled ye a weapon as well as any Man of my time in the University.

Sir Sig. Say you so, Mr. Tickletext? and faith, you shall have a bout with him.

[Tick. gravely goes to Petro.

Tick. Hum—hum—Mr. Monsieur—pray what are the Guards that you like best?

Pet. Monsieur, eder de Quart or de Terse, dey be both French and Italian: den for your Parades, Degagements, your Advancements, your Eloynements and Retierments, dey be de same.

Tick. Cart and Horse, what new-found inventions and words have we here?—Sir, I wou’d know, whether you like St. George’s Guard or not.

Pet. Alons—Monsieur, Mettez vous en Guard! take de Flurette.

Sir Sig. Nay, faith and troth, Governor, thou shalt have a Rubbers with him.

[Tick, smiling refuses.

Tick. Nay, certo, Sir Signal,—and yet you shall prevail;—well, Sir, come your ways. [Takes the Flurette.

Pet. Set your right foot forward, turn up your hand so—dat be de Quart—now turn it dus—and dat be de Terse.

Tick. Hocus Pocus, Hicksius Doxius—here be de Cart, and here be de Horse—why, what’s all this for; hah, Sir—and where’s your Guard all this while?

Sir Sig. Ay, Sir, where’s your Guard, Sir, as my Governour says, Sir, hah?

Tick. Come, come, Sir, I must instruct you, I see; Come your ways, Sir.—

Pet. Attende, attende une peu—trust de right hand and de right leg forward together.—

Tick. I marry, Sir, that’s a good one indeed: What shall become of my Head then, Sir? what Guard have I left for that, good Mr. Monsieur, hah?

Pet. Ah, Morbleu, is not dis for every ting?

Tick. No, marry, is not it, Sir; St. George’s Guard is best for the Head whilst you live—as thus, Sir.

Pet. Dat, Sir, ha, ha—dat be de Guard for de Back-Sword.

Tick. Back-sword, Sir, yes, Back-sword, what shou’d it be else?

Pet. And dis be de Single-Rapier.

Tick. Single-Rapier with a Vengeance, there’s a weapon for a Gentleman indeed; is all this stir about Single-Rapier?

Pet. Single-Rapier! What wou’d you have for de Gentlemen, de Cudgel for de Gentlemen?

Tick. No, Sir, but I wou’d have it for de Rascally Frenchman, who comes to abuse Persons of Quality with paltry Single-Rapier.— Single-Rapier! Come, Sir, come—put your self in your Cart and your Horse as you call it, and I’ll shew you the difference.

[Undresses himself till he appears in a ridiculous Posture.

Pet. Ah, Monsieur, me sall run you two three times through de Body, and den you break a me head, what care I for dat?—Pox on his ignorance. [Aside.

Tick. Oh, ho, Sir, do your worst, Sir, do your worst, Sir.

[They put themselves into several Guards, and Tick. beats Pet. about the Stage.—Enter Gall. Fill. and Jul.

Pet. Ah, Monsieur, Monsieur, will you kill a me?

Tick. Ah, Monsieur, where be your Carts now, and your Horse, Mr. Monsieur, hah?—and your Single-Rapier, Mr. Monsieur, hah?—

Gal. Why, how now, Mr. Tickletext, what mortal Wars are these? Ajax and Ulysses contending for Achilles his Armour?

Pet. If I be not reveng’d on him, hang me. [Aside

Sir Sig. Ay, why, who the Devil wou’d have taken my Governor for so tall a man of hands? but Corpo de me, Mr. Galliard, I have not seen his Fellow.

Tick. Ah, Sir, time was, I wou’d have play’d ye a Match at Cudgels with e’er a Sophister in the College, but verily I have forgotten it; but here’s an Impudent Frenchman that wou’d have past Single-Rapier upon us.

Gal. How, nay a my word, then he deserv’d to be chastis’d for’t—but now all’s at Peace again; pray know my Kinsman, Sir Harry Fillamour.

Sir Sig. Yo baco les manos, Signior Illustrissimo Cavaliero,—and yours, Signiors, who are Multo bien Venito.

Tick. Oh Lord, Sir, you take me, Sir, in such a posture, Sir, as I protest I have not been in this many years.

[Dressing himself whilst he talks.

Fil. Exercise is good for health, Sir.

Gal. Sir Signal, you are grown a perfect Italian: Well, Mr. Tickletext, you will carry him home a most accomplish’t Gentleman I see.

Tick. Hum, verily, Sir, though I say it, for a Man that never travell’d before, I think I have done reasonably well—I’ll tell you, Sir—it was by my directions and advice that he brought over with him,—two English Knives, a thousand of English Pins, four pair of Jersey Stockings, and as many pair of Buckskin Gloves.

Sir Sig. Ay, Sir, for good Gloves you know are very scarce Commodities in this Country.

Jul. Here, Sir, at Rome, as you say, above all other places.

Tick. Certo, mere hedging Gloves, Sir, and the clouterlest Seams.

Fil. Very right, Sir,—and now he talks of Rome,—Pray, Sir, give me your opinion of the Place—Are there not noble Buildings here, rare Statues, and admirable Fountains?

Tick. Your Buildings are pretty Buildings, but not comparable to our University Buildings; your Fountains, I confess, are, pretty Springs,— and your Statues reasonably well carv’d—but, Sir, they are so ancient they are of no value: then your Churches are the worst that ever I saw— that ever I saw.

Gal. How, Sir, the Churches, why I thought Rome had been famous throughout all Europe for fine Churches.

Fil. What think you of St. Peter’s Church, Sir? Is it not a glorious Structure?

Tick. St. Peter’s Church, Sir, you may as well call it St. Peter’s Hall, Sir; it has neither Pew, Pulpit, Desk, Steeple, nor Ring of Bells; and call you this a Church, Sir? No, Sir, I’ll say that for little England, and a fig for’t, for Churches, easy Pulpits, [Sir Sig. speaks, And sleeping Pews,] they are as well ordered as any Churches in Christendom: and finer Rings of Bells, Sir, I am sure were never heard.

Jul. Oh, Sir, there’s much in what you say.

Fil. But then, Sir, your rich Altars, and excellent Pictures of the greatest Masters of the World, your delicate Musick and Voices, make some amends for the other wants.

Tick. How, Sir! tell me of your rich Altars, your Guegaws and Trinkets, and Popish Fopperies, with a deal of Sing-song—when I say, give me, Sir, five hundred close Changes rung by a set of good Ringers, and I’ll not exchange ‘em for all the Anthems in Europe: and for the Pictures, Sir, they are Superstition, idolatrous, and flat Popery.

Fil. I’ll convince you of that Error, that persuades you harmless Pictures are idolatrous.

Tick. How, Sir, how, Sir, convince me! talk to me of being convinc’d, and that in favour of Popery! No, Sir, by your favour I shall not be convinc’d: convinc’d, quoth a!—no, Sir, fare you well, an you be for convincing: come away, Sir Signal, fare you well, Sir, fare you well:— convinc’d! [Goes out.

Sir Sig. Ha, ha, ha, so now is my Governour gone in a Fustian-fume: well, he is ever thus when one talks of Whoring and Religion: but come, Sir, walk in, and I’ll undertake, my Tutor shall beg your Pardon, and renounce his English ill-bred Opinion; nay, his English Churches too—all but his own Vicaridge.

Fil. I have better diversion, Sir, I thank you—come, Julio, are you for a Walk in the Garden of Medices Villa, ‘tis hard by?—

Jul. I’ll wait on you— [Ex. Fil. and Julio.

Sir Sig. How in the Garden of Medices Villa?—but, harkye, Galliard, will the Ladies be there, the Curtezans, the Bona Roba’s, the Inamorata’s, and the Bell Ingrato’s, hah?

Gal. Oh, doubtless, Sir. [Exit. Gall.

Sir Sig. I’ll e’en bring my Governour thither to beg his Pardon, on purpose to get an opportunity to see the fine Women; it may be I may get a sight of my new Mistress, Donna Silvianetta, whom Petro is to bring me acquainted with.

[Exeunt.