Ant. By all that’s good, the nauseous wife! [Aside.

Joh. What! you are confounded, and stand mute?

Ant. Somewhat nonplust, I confess, to hear you deny your name so positively.  Why, are not you Morayma, the Mufti’s daughter?  Did not I see you with him:  did not he present me to you? were you not so charitable as to give me money? ay, and to tread upon my foot, and squeeze my hand too, if I may be so bold to remember you of past favours?

Joh. And you see I am come to make them good; but I am neither Morayma, nor the Mufti’s daughter.

Ant. Nay, I know not that:  but I am sure he is old enough to be your father; and either father, or reverend father, I heard you call him.

Joh. Once again, how came you to name Morayma?

Ant. Another damned mistake of mine:  for, asking one of my fellow-slaves, who were the chief ladies about the house, he answered me, Morayma and Johayma; but she, it seems, is his daughter, with a pox to her, and you are his beloved wife.

Joh. Say your beloved mistress, if you please; for that’s the title I desire.  This moonshine grows offensive to my eyes; come, shall we walk into the arbour? there we may rectify all mistakes.

Ant. That’s close and dark.

Joh. And are those faults to lovers?

Ant. But there I cannot please myself with the sight of your beauty.

Joh. Perhaps you may do better.

Ant. But there’s not a breath of air stirring.

Joh. The breath of lovers is the sweetest air; but you are fearful.

Ant. I am considering indeed, that, if I am taken with you—­

Joh. The best way to avoid it is to retire, where we may not be discovered.

Ant. Where lodges your husband?

Joh. Just against the face of this open walk.

Ant. Then he has seen us already, for aught I know.

Joh. You make so many difficulties, I fear I am displeasing to you.

Ant. [Aside.] If Morayma comes, and takes me in the arbour with her, I have made a fine exchange of that diamond for this pebble.

Joh. You are much fallen off, let me tell you, from the fury of your first embrace.

Ant. I confess I was somewhat too furious at first, but you will forgive the transport of my passion; now I have considered it better, I have a qualm of conscience.

Joh. Of conscience! why, what has conscience to do with two young lovers that have opportunity?

Ant. Why, truly, conscience is something to blame for interposing in our matters:  but how can I help it, if I have a scruple to betray my master?

Joh. There must be something more in’t; for your conscience was very quiet when you took me for Morayma.