_ 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.
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