Enter ANTONIO, in a rich African habit.

Ant. What do you mean, my dear, to stand talking in this suspicious place, just underneath Johayma’s window?—­[To the Mufti.] You are well met, comrade; I know you are the friend of our flight:  are the horses ready at the postern gate?

Muf. Antonio, and in disguise! now I begin to smell a rat.

Ant. And I another, that out-stinks it.  False Morayma, hast thou thus betrayed me to thy father!

Mor. Alas!  I was betrayed myself.  He came disguised like you, and I, poor innocent, ran into his hands.

Muf. In good time you did so; I laid a trap for a bitch-fox, and a worse vermin has caught himself in it.  You would fain break loose now, though you left a limb behind you; but I am yet in my own territories, and in call of company; that’s my comfort.

Ant. [Taking him by the throat.] No; I have a trick left to put thee past thy squeaking.  I have given thee the quinsy; that ungracious tongue shall preach no more false doctrine.

Mor. What do you mean? you will not throttle him? consider he’s my father.

Ant. Pr’ythee, let us provide first for our own safety; if I do not consider him, he will consider us, with a vengeance, afterwards.

Mor. You may threaten him for crying out; but, for my sake, give him back a little cranny of his windpipe, and some part of speech.

Ant. Not so much as one single interjection.—­Come away, father-in-law, this is no place for dialogues; when you are in the mosque, you talk by hours, and there no man must interrupt you.  This is but like for like, good father-in-law; now I am in the pulpit, it is your turn to hold your tongue. [He struggles.] Nay, if you will be hanging back, I shall take care you shall hang forward.
[Pulls him along the Stage, with
his Sword at his Reins.

Mor. The other way to the arbour with him; and make haste, before we are discovered.

Ant. If I only bind and gag him there, he may commend me hereafter for civil usage; he deserves not so much favour by any action of his life.

Mor. Yes, pray bate him one,—­for begetting your mistress.

Ant. I would, if he had not thought more of thy mother than of thee.  Once more, come along in silence, my Pythagorean father-in-law.

Joh. [At the Balcony.] A bird in a cage may peep, at least, though she must not fly.—­What bustle’s there beneath my window?  Antonio, by all my hopes!  I know him by his habit.  But what makes that woman with him, and a friend, a sword drawn, and hasting hence?  This is no time for silence:—­Who’s within? call there, where are the servants? why, Omar, Abedin, Hassan, and the rest, make haste, and run into the garden; there are thieves and villains; arm all the family, and stop them.