SCENE II.—­A Night-Scene of the Mufti’s Garden, where an Arbour is discovered.

  Enter ANTONIO.

Ant. She names herself Morayma; the Mufti’s only daughter, and a virgin!  This is the time and place that she appointed in her letter, yet she comes not.  Why, thou sweet delicious creature, why torture me with thy delay!  Dar’st thou be false to thy assignation?  What, in the cool and silence of the night, and to a new lover?—­Pox on the hypocrite, thy father, for instructing thee so little in the sweetest point of his religion.—­Hark, I hear the rustling of her silk mantle.  Now she comes, now she comes:—­no, hang it, that was but the whistling of the wind through the orange-trees.—­Now, again, I hear the pit-a-pat of a pretty foot through the dark alley:—­No, ’tis the son of a mare, that’s broken loose, and munching upon the melons.—­Oh, the misery of an expecting lover!  Well, I’ll e’en despair, go into my arbour, and try to sleep; in a dream I shall enjoy her, in despite of her. [Goes into the Arbour, and lies down.

  Enter JOHAYMA, wrapt up in a Moorish mantle.

Joh. Thus far my love has carried me, almost without my knowledge whither I was going.  Shall I go on? shall I discover myself?—­What an injury am I doing to my old husband!  Yet what injury, since he’s old, and has three wives, and six concubines, besides me! ’tis but stealing my own tithe from him. [She comes a little nearer the Arbour.

Ant. [Raising himself a little, and looking.] At last ’tis she; this is no illusion, I am sure; ’tis a true she-devil of flesh and blood, and she could never have taken a fitter time to tempt me.

Joh. He’s young and handsome—­

Ant. Yes, well enough, I thank nature. [Aside.

Joh. And I am yet neither old nor ugly:  Sure he will not refuse me.

Ant. No; thou may’st pawn thy maidenhead upon’t, he wont. [Aside.

Joh. The Mufti would feast himself upon other women, and keep me fasting.

Ant. O, the holy curmudgeon! [Aside.

Joh. Would preach abstinence, and practise luxury! but, I thank my stars, I have edified more by his example than his precept.

Ant. [Aside.] Most divinely argued; she’s the best casuist in all Africk. [He rushes out, and embraces her.] I can hold no longer from embracing thee, my dear Morayma; the old unconscionable whoreson, thy father, could he expect cold chastity from a child of his begetting?

Joh. What nonsense do you talk? do you take me for the Mufti’s daughter?

Ant. Why, are you not, madam? [Throwing off her barnus.

Joh. I find you had an appointment with Morayma.