Chapter XXXII: Act I: SCENE I. A Chamber

_Enter_ Elaria _and_ Mopsophil.

I.

_A Curse upon that faithless Maid,
Who first her Sex’s Liberty betray’d;
Born free as Man to Love and Range,
Till nobler Nature did to Custom change,
Custom, that dull excuse for Fools,
Who think all Virtue to consist in Rules_.

II.

_From Love our Fetters never sprung;
That smiling God, all wanton, gay and young,
Shows by his Wings he cannot be
Confined to a restless Slavery;
But here and there at random roves,
Not fix’d to glittering Courts, or shady Groves_.

III.

_Then she that Constancy profess’d
Was but a well Dissembler at the best;
And that imaginary Sway
She feign’d to give, in seeming to obey,
Was but the height of prudent Art,
To deal with greater liberty her Heart_.

[After the Song _Elaria_ gives her Lute to _Mopsophil_.

_Ela_. This does not divert me; Nor nothing will, till _Scaramouch_ return, And bring me News of _Cinthio_.

_Mop_. Truly I was so sleepy last Night, I know nothing of the Adventure, for which you are kept so close a Prisoner to day, and more strictly guarded than usual.

_Ela. Cinthio_ came with Musick last Night under my Window, which my Father hearing, sallied out with his _Mirmidons_ upon him; and clashing of Swords I heard, but what hurt was done, or whether _Cinthio_ were discovered to him, I know not; but the Billet I sent him now by _Scaramouch_ will occasion me soon Intelligence.

_Mop_. And see, Madam, where your trusty _Roger_ comes.

_Enter_ Scaramouch, _peeping on all sides before he enters_.

You may advance, and fear none but your Friends.

_Scar_. Away, and keep the door.

_Ela_. Oh, dear _Scaramouch_! hast thou been at the Vice-Roy’s?

_Scar_. Yes, yes. [_In heat_.

_Ela_. And hast thou delivered my Letter to his Nephew, Don _Cinthio_?

_Scar_. Yes, yes, what should I deliver else?

_Ela_. Well--and how does he?

_Scar_. Lord, how should he do? Why, what a laborious thing it is to be a Pimp? [_Fanning himself with his Cap_.

_Ela_. Why, well he shou’d do.

_Scar_. So he is, as well as a Night-adventuring Lover can be,--he has got but one Wound, Madam.

_Ela_. How! wounded say you? Oh Heavens! ‘tis not mortal.

_Scar_. Why, I have no great skill; but they say it may be dangerous.

_Ela_. I die with Fear, where is he wounded?

_Scar_. Why, Madam, he is run--quite through the Heart,--but the Man may live, if I please.

_Ela_. Thou please! torment me not with Riddles.

_Scar_. Why, Madam, there is a certain cordial Balsam, call’d a Fair Lady; which outwardly applied to his Bosom, will prove a better cure than all your Weapon or sympathetick Powder, meaning your Ladyship.

_Ela_. Is _Cinthio_ then not wounded?

_Scar_. No otherwise than by your fair Eyes, Madam; he got away unseen and unknown.

_Ela_. Dost know how precious time is, and dost thou fool it away thus? What said he to my Letter?

_Scar_. What should he say?

_Ela_. Why, a hundred dear soft things of Love, kiss it as often, and bless me for my Goodness.

_Scar_. Why, so he did.

_Ela_. Ask thee a thousand Questions of my Health after my last night’s fright.

_Scar_. So he did.

_Ela_. Expressing all the kind concern Love cou’d inspire, for the Punishment my Father has inflicted on me, for entertaining him at my Window last night.

_Scar_. All this he did.

_Ela_. And for my being confin’d a Prisoner to my Apartment, without the hope or almost possibility of seeing him any more.

_Scar_. There I think you are a little mistaken; for besides the Plot that I have laid to bring you together all this Night,--there are such Stratagems a brewing, not only to bring you together, but with your Father’s consent too; such a Plot, Madam--

_Ela_. Ay, that would be worthy of thy Brain; prithee what?--

_Scar_. Such a Device--

_Ela_. I’m impatient.

_Scar_. Such a Conundrum,--Well, if there be wise Men and Conjurers in the World, they are intriguing Lovers.

_Ela_. Out with it.

_Scar_. You must know, Madam, your Father (my Master, the Doctor) is a little whimsical, romantick, or Don-Quicksottish, or so.

_Ela_. Or rather mad.

_Scar_. That were uncivil to be supposed by me; but lunatic we may call him, without breaking the Decorum of good Manners; for he is always travelling to the Moon.

_Ela_. And so religiously believes there is a World there, that he Discourses as gravely of the People, their Government, Institutions, Laws, Manners, Religion, and Constitution, as if he had been bred a _Machiavel_ there.

_Scar_. How came he thus infected first?

_Ela_. With reading foolish Books, _Lucian’s Dialogue of the Lofty Traveller_, who flew up to the Moon, and thence to Heaven; an heroick Business, call’d _The Man in the Moon_, if you’ll believe a _Spaniard_, who was carried thither, upon an Engine drawn by wild Geese; with another Philosophical Piece, _A Discourse of the World in the Moon_; with a thousand other ridiculous Volumes, too hard to name.

_Scar_. Ay, this reading of Books is a pernicious thing. I was like to have run mad once, reading Sir _John Mandevil_;--but to the business,--I went, as you know, to Don _Cinthio’s_ Lodgings, where I found him with his dear Friend _Charmante_, laying their Heads together for a Farce.

_Ela_. Farce!

_Scar_. Ay, a Farce, which shall be call’d,--_The World in the Moon_: Wherein your Father shall be so impos’d on, as shall bring matters most magnificently about.

_Ela_. I cannot conceive thee, but the Design must be good, since _Cinthio_ and _Charmante_ own it.

_Scar_. In order to this, _Charmante_ is dressing himself like one of the Caballists of the _Rosycrusian_ Order, and is coming to prepare my credulous Master for the greater Imposition. I have his Trinkets here to play upon him, which shall be ready.

_Ela_. But the Farce, where is it to be acted?

_Scar_. Here, here, in this very House; I am to order the Decorations, adorn a Stage, and place Scenes proper.

_Ela_. How can this be done without my Father’s Knowledge?

_Scar_. You know the old Apartment next the great Orchard, and the Worm-eaten Gallery that opens to the River; which place for several Years no body has frequented; there all things shall be acted proper for our purpose.

_Enter_ Mopsophil _running_.

_Mop_. Run, run, _Scaramouch_, my Master’s conjuring for you like mad below, he calls up all his little Devils with horrid Names, his Microscope, his Horoscope, his Telescope, and all his Scopes.

_Scar_. Here, here,--I had almost forgot the Letters; here’s one for you, and one for Mrs. _Bellemante_. [_Runs out_.

_Enter_ Bellemante _with a Book_.

_Bell_. Here, take my Prayer-Book, _Oh Ma tres chère_. [_Embraces her_.

_Ela_. Thy Eyes are always laughing, _Bellemante_.

_Bell_. And so would yours, had they been so well employ’d as mine, this morning. I have been at the Chapel, and seen so many Beaus, such a number of Plumeys, I cou’d not tell which I should look on most; sometimes my Heart was charm’d with the gay Blonding, then with the melancholy Noire, anon the amiable Brunet; sometimes the bashful, then again the bold; the little now, anon the lovely tall: In fine, my Dear, I was embarass’d on all sides, I did nothing but deal my Heart _tout autour_.

_Ela_. Oh, there was then no danger, Cousin.

_Bell_. No, but abundance of pleasure.

_Ela_. Why, this is better than sighing for _Charmante_.

_Bell_. That’s when he’s present only, and makes his Court to me; I can sigh to a Lover, but will never sigh after him:--but Oh, the Beaus, the Beaus, Cousin, that I saw at Church.

_Ela_. Oh, you had great devotion to Heaven then!

_Bell_. And so I had; for I did nothing but admire its Handy-work, but I cou’d not have pray’d heartily, if I had been dying; but a duce on’t, who shou’d come in and spoil all but my Lover _Charmante_, so dress’d, so gallant, that he drew together all the scatter’d fragments of my Heart, confin’d my wandering Thoughts, and fixt ‘em all on him: Oh, how he look’d, how he was dress’d!

SINGS.

_Chevalier à Cheveux blonds,
Plus de Mouche, plus de Poudre,
Plus de Ribons et Cannons_.

--Oh, what a dear ravishing thing is the beginning of an Amour!

_Ela_. Thou’rt still in Tune, when wilt thou be tame, _Bellemante_?

_Bell_. When I am weary of loving, _Elaria_.

_Ela_. To keep up your Humour, here’s a Letter from your _Charmante_.

Bellemante _reads_.

_Malicious Creature, when wilt thou cease to torment
me, and either appear less charming, or more kind? I languish
when from you, and am wounded when I see you, and yet I am
eternally courting my Pain. _Cinthio_ and I, are contriving
how we shall see you to Night. Let us not toil in vain; we
ask but your consent; the Pleasure will be all ours, ‘tis therefore
fit we suffer all the Fatigue. Grant this, and love me, if you
will save the Life of_
Your _Charmante_.

--Live then, _Charmante_! Live as long as Love can last!

_Ela_. Well, Cousin, _Scaramouch_ tells me of a rare design’s a hatching, to relieve us from this Captivity; here are we mew’d up to be espous’d to two Moon-calfs for ought I know; for the Devil of any human thing is suffer’d to come near us without our Governante and Keeper, Mr. _Scaramouch_.

_Bell_. Who, if he had no more Honesty and Conscience than my Uncle, wou’d let us pine for want of Lovers: but thanks be prais’d, the Generosity of our Cavaliers has open’d their obdurate Hearts with a Golden Key, that lets ‘em in at all Opportunities. Come, come, let’s in, and answer their Billet-Doux.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II. _A Garden_.

_Enter_ Doctor, _with all manner of Mathematical Instruments
hanging at his Girdle_; Scaramouch _bearing a Telescope twenty
(or more) Foot long_.

_Doct_. Set down the Telescope.--Let me see, what Hour is it?

_Scar_. About six a Clock, Sir.

_Doct_. Then ‘tis about the Hour that the great Monarch of the Upper World enters into his Closet; Mount, mount the Telescope.

_Scar_. What to do, Sir?

_Doct_. I understand, at certain moments critical, one may be snatch’d of such a mighty consequence, to let the Sight into the Secret Closet.

_Scar_. How, Sir, peep into the King’s Closet! under favour, Sir, that will be something uncivil.

_Doct_. Uncivil! it were flat Treason if it should be known; but thus unseen, and as wise Politicians shou’d, I take survey of all: This is the Statesman’s Peeping-hole, thorow which he steals the Secrets of his King, and seems to wink at distance.

_Scar_. The very Key-hole, Sir, thorow which, with half an Eye, he sees him even at his Devotion, Sir.

[_A knocking at the Garden-gate_.

_Doct_. Take care none enter.

[Scar. _goes to the Door_.

_Scar_. Oh, Sir, Sir, here’s some strange great Man come to wait on you.

_Doct_. Great Man! from whence?

_Scar_. Nay, from the Moon-World, for ought I know, for he looks not like the People of the lower Orb.

_Doct_. Ha! and that may be; wait on him in.

[_Exit_ Scar.

_Enter_ Scaramouch _bare, bowing before_ Charmante, _dress’d in
a strange fantastical Habit, with_ Harlequin; _salutes the_ Doctor.

_Char_. Doctor _Baliardo_, most learned Sir, all Hail! Hail from the great Caballa of _Eutopia_.

_Doct_. Most reverend _Bard_, thrice welcome. [_Salutes him low_.

_Char_. The Fame of your great Learning, Sir, and Virtue is known with Joy to the renown’d Society.

_Doct_. Fame, Sir, has done me too much Honour, to bear my Name to the renown’d _Caballa_.

_Char_. You must not attribute it all to Fame, Sir, they are too learned and wise to take up things from Fame, Sir: our Intelligence is by ways more secret and sublime, the Stars, and little Daemons of the Air inform us all things, past, present, and to come.

_Doct_. I must confess the Count of _Gabalis_ renders it plain, from Writ divine and humane, there are such friendly and intelligent Daemons.

_Char_. I hope you do not doubt that Doctrine, Sir, which holds that the Four Elements are peopled with Persons of a Form and Species more divine than vulgar Mortals--those of the fiery Regions we call the _Salamanders_, they beget Kings and Heroes, with Spirits like their Deietical Sires; the lovely Inhabitants of the Water, we call Nymphs; those of the Earth are Gnomes or Fairies; those of the Air are Sylphs. These, Sir, when in Conjunction with Mortals, beget immortal Races; such as the first-born Man, which had continu’d so, had the first Man ne’er doated on a Woman.

_Doct_. I am of that opinion, Sir; Man was not made for Woman.

_Char_. Most certain, Sir, Man was to have been immortaliz’d by the Love and Conversation of these charming Sylphs and Nymphs, and Women by the Gnomes and Salamanders, and to have stock’d the World with Demi-Gods, such as at this Day inhabit the Empire of the Moon.

_Doct_. Most admirable Philosophy and Reason!--But do these Sylphs and Nymphs appear in Shapes?

_Char_. The most beautiful of all the Sons and Daughters of the Universe: Fancy, Imagination is not half so charming: And then so soft, so kind! but none but the _Caballa_ and their Families are blest with their divine Addresses. Were you but once admitted to that Society--

_Doct_. Ay, Sir, what Virtues or what Merits can accomplish me for that great Honour?

_Char_. An absolute abstinence from carnal thought, devout and pure of Spirit; free from Sin.

_Doct_. I dare not boast my Virtues, Sir; Is there no way to try my Purity?

_Char_. Are you very secret?

_Doct_. ‘Tis my first Principle, Sir.

_Char_. And one, the most material in our _Rosycrusian_ order.--Please you to make a Tryal?

_Doct_. As how, Sir, I beseech you?

_Char_. If you be thorowly purg’d from Vice, the Opticles of your Sight will be so illuminated, that glancing through this Telescope, you may behold one of these lovely Creatures, that people the vast Region of the Air.

_Doct_. Sir, you oblige profoundly.

_Char_. Kneel then, and try your strength of Virtue. Sir,--Keep your Eye fix’d and open. [_He looks in the Telescope_.

[_While he is looking_, Charmante _goes to the Door to_ Scaramouch,
_who waited on purpose without, and takes a Glass with a Picture of
a Nymph on it, and a Light behind it; that as he brings it, it shews
to the Audience. Goes to the end of the Telescope_.

--Can you discern, Sir?

_Doct_. Methinks, I see a kind of glorious Cloud drawn up--and now, ‘tis gone again.

_Char_. Saw you no Fuger?

_Doct_. None.

_Char_. Then make a short Prayer to _Alikin_, the Spirit of the East; shake off all earthly Thoughts, and look again.

[_He prays_. Charmante _puts the Glass into the Mouth
of the Telescope_.

_Doct_.--Astonish’d, ravish’d with Delight, I see a Beauty young and Angel-like, leaning upon a Cloud.

_Char_. Seems she on a Bed? then she’s reposing, and you must not gaze.

_Doct_. Now a Cloud veils her from me.

_Char_. She saw you peeping then, and drew the Curtain of the Air between.

_Doct_. I am all Rapture, Sir, at this rare Vision--is’t possible, Sir, that I may ever hope the Conversation of so divine a Beauty?

_Char_. Most possible, Sir; they will court you, their whole delight is to immortalize--_Alexander_ was begot by a Salamander, that visited his Mother in the form of a Serpent, because he would not make King _Philip_ jealous; and that famous Philosopher _Merlin_ was begotten on a Vestal Nun, a certain King’s Daughter, by a most beautiful young Salamander; as indeed all the Heroes, and Men of mighty Minds are.

_Doct_. Most excellent!

_Char_. The Nymph _Egeria_, inamour’d on _Numa Pompilius_, came to him invisible to all Eyes else, and gave him all his Wisdom and Philosophy. _Zoroaster, Trismegistus, Apuleius, Aquinius, Albertus Magnus, Socrates_ and _Virgil_ had their Zilphid, which the Foolish call’d their Daemon or Devil. But you are wise, Sir.

_Doct_. But do you imagine, Sir, they will fall in love with an old Mortal?

_Char_. They love not like the Vulgar, ‘tis the immortal Part they doat upon.

_Doct_. But, Sir, I have a Niece and Daughter which I love equally, were it not possible they might be immortaliz’d?

_Char_. No doubt on’t, Sir, if they be pure and chaste.

_Doct_. I think they are, and I’ll take care to keep ‘em so; for I confess, Sir, I would fain have a Hero to my Grandson.

_Char_. You never saw the Emperor of the Moon, Sir, the mighty _Iredonozar_?

_Doct_. Never, Sir; his Court I have, but ‘twas confusedly too.

_Char_. Refine your Thoughts, Sir, by a Moment’s Prayer, and try again.

[_He prays_. Char. _claps the Glass with the Emperor on it,
he looks in and sees it_.

_Doct_. It is too much, too much for mortal Eyes! I see a Monarch seated on a Throne--but seems most sad and pensive.

_Char_. Forbear then, Sir; for now his Love-Fit’s on, and then he wou’d be private.

_Doct_. His Love-Fit, Sir!

_Char_. Ay, Sir, the Emperor’s in love with some fair Mortal.

_Doct_. And can he not command her?

_Char_. Yes, but her Quality being too mean, he struggles, though a King, ‘twixt Love and Honour.

_Doct_. It were too much to know the Mortal, Sir?

_Char_. ‘Tis yet unknown, Sir, to the Caballists, who now are using all their Arts to find her, and serve his Majesty; but now my great Affair deprives me of you: To morrow, Sir, I’ll wait on you again; and now I’ve try’d your Virtue, tell you Wonders.

_Doct_. I humbly kiss your Hands, most learned Sir.

[Charmante _goes out_. Doctor _waits on him to the Door,
and returns: to him_ Scaramouch. _All this while_ Harlequin
_was hid in the Hedges, peeping now and then, and when his
Master went out he was left behind_.

_Scar_. So, so, Don _Charmante_ has played his Part most exquisitely; I’ll in and see how it works in his Pericranium. --Did you call, Sir?

_Doct. Scaramouch_, I have, for thy singular Wit and Honesty, always had a Tenderness for thee above that of a Master to a Servant.

_Scar_. I must confess it, Sir.

_Doct_. Thou hast Virtue and Merit that deserves much.

_Scar_. Oh Lord, Sir!

_Doct_. And I may make thee great;--all I require, is, that thou wilt double thy diligent Care of my Daughter and my Niece; for there are mighty things design’d for them, if we can keep ‘em from the sight of Man.

_Scar_. The sight of Man, Sir!

_Doct_. Ay, and the very Thoughts of Man.

_Scar_. What Antidote is there to be given to a young Wench, against the Disease of Love and Longing?

_Doct_. Do you your Part, and because I know thee discreet and very secret, I will hereafter discover Wonders to thee. On pain of Life, look to the Girls; that’s your Charge.

_Scar_. Doubt me not, Sir, and I hope your Reverence will reward my faithful Services with _Mopsophil_, your Daughter’s Governante, who is rich, and has long had my Affection, Sir.

[Harlequin _peeping, cries Oh Traitor_!

_Doct_. Set not thy Heart on transitory Mortal, there’s better things in store--besides, I have promis’d her to a Farmer for his Son.--Come in with me, and bring the Telescope.

[_Ex_. Doctor _and_ Scaramouch.

Harlequin _comes out on the Stage_.

_Har_. My Mistress _Mopsophil_ to marry a Farmer’s Son! What, am I then forsaken, abandon’d by the false fair One? If I have Honour, I must die with Rage; Reproaching gently, and complaining madly. It is resolv’d, I’ll hang my self--No, when did I ever hear of a Hero that hang’d him self?--No, ‘tis the Death of Rogues. What if I drown my self?--No, Useless Dogs and Puppies are drown’d; a Pistol or a Caper on my own Sword wou’d look more nobly, but that I have a natural Aversion to Pain. Besides, it is as vulgar as Rats-bane, or the slicing of the Weasand. No, I’ll die a Death uncommon, and leave behind me an eternal Fame. I have somewhere read an Author, either antient or modern, of a Man that laugh’d to death.--I am very ticklish, and am resolv’d to die that Death.--Oh, _Mopsophil_, my cruel _Mopsophil_! [_Pulls off his Hat, Sword and Shoes_. And now, farewel the World, fond Love, and mortal Cares.

[_He falls to tickle himself, his Head, his Ears, his Armpits,
Hands, Sides, and Soles of his Feet; making ridiculous Cries
and Noises of Laughing several ways, with Antick Leaps and Skips,
at last falls down as dead.

Enter_ Scaramouch.

_Scar. Harlequin_ was left in the Garden, I’ll tell him the News of _Mopsophil_. [Going forward, tumbles over him. Ha, what’s here? _Harlequin_ dead! [_Heaving him up, he flies into a Rage_.

_Har_. Who is’t that thus wou’d rob me of my Honour?

_Scar_. Honour, why I thought thou’dst been dead.

_Ha_. Why, so I was, and the most agreeably dead.

_Scar_. I came to bemoan with thee the mutual loss of our Mistress.

_Har_. I know it, Sir, I know it, and that thou art as false as she: Was’t not a Covenant between us, that neither shou’d take advantage of the other, but both shou’d have fair play, and yet you basely went to undermine me, and ask her of the Doctor; but since she’s gone, I scorn to quarrel for her--But let’s like loving Brothers, hand in hand, leap from some Precipice into the Sea.

_Scar_. What, and spoil all my Clothes? I thank you for that; no, I have a newer way: you know I lodge four pair of Stairs high, let’s ascend hither, and after saying our Prayers--

_Har_. Prayers! I never heard of a dying Hero that ever pray’d.

_Scar_. Well, I’ll not stand with you for a Trifle--Being come up, I’ll open the Casement, take you by the Heels, and sling you out into the Street; after which, you have no more to do, but to come up and throw me down in my turn.

_Har_. The Atchievement’s great and new; but now I think on’t, I’m resolv’d to hear my Sentence from the Mouth of the perfidious Trollop, for yet I cannot credit it.

I’ll to the Gipsy, though I venture banging,
To be undeceiv’d, ‘tis hardly worth the hanging.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE III. _The Chamber of_ Bellemante.

_Enter_ Scaramouch _groping_.

_Scar_. So, I have got rid of my Rival, and shall here get an Opportunity to speak with _Mopsophil_; for hither she must come anon, to lay the young Lady’s Night-things in order; I’ll hide my self in some Corner till she come. [_Goes on to the further side of the Stage_.

_Enter_ Harlequin _groping_.

_Har_. So, I made my Rival believe I was gone, and hid my self till I got this Opportunity to steal to _Mopsophil’s_ Apartment, which must be hereabouts; for from these Windows she us’d to entertain my Love. [_Advances_.

_Scar_. Ha, I hear a soft Tread,--if it were _Mopsophil’s_, she wou’d not come by dark.

[Harlequin _advancing runs against a Table, and almost
strikes himself backwards_.

_Har_. What was that?--a Table, there I may obscure my self. [_Groping for the Table_. What a Devil, is it vanish’d?

_Scar_. Devil,--vanish’d! What can this mean? ‘Tis a Man’s Voice.--If it should be my Master the Doctor now, I were a dead Man;--he can’t see me; and I’ll put my self into such a Posture, that if he feel me, he shall as soon take me for a Church Spout as a Man.

[_He puts himself into a Posture ridiculous, his Arms a-kimbo,
his Knees wide open, his Backside almost touching the Ground,
his Mouth stretched wide, and Eyes staring_. Har. _groping
thrusts his Hand into his Mouth, he bites him, the other dares
not cry out_.

_Har_. Ha, what’s this? all Mouth, with twenty rows of Teeth.--Now dare not I cry out, lest the Doctor shou’d come, find me here, and kill me--I’ll try if it be mortal.

[_Making damnable Faces and signs of Pain, he draws a Dagger_. Scar.
_feels the Point of it, and shrinks back, letting go his Hand_.

_Scar_. Who the Devil can this be? I felt a Poniard, and am glad I sav’d my Skin from pinking. [_Steals out_.

[Harlequin _groping about, finds the Table, on which
there is a Carpet, and creeps under it, listening_.

_Enter_ Bellemante, _with a Candle in one Hand,
and a Book in the other_.

_Bell_. I am in a _Belle_ Humor for Poetry to-night; I’ll make some Boremes on Love. [_She writes and studies_. _Out of a great Curiosity,--A Shepherd did demand of me_.-- No, no,--_A Shepherd this implor’d of me_. [_Scratches out, and writes a-new_. Ay, ay, so it shall go.--_Tell me, said he, can you resign?-- Resign_, ay, what shall rhyme to _Resign?--Tell me, said he_.-- [_She lays down the Tablets, and walks about_.

[Harlequin _peeps from under the Table, takes the Book,
writes in it, and lays it up before she can turn_.

[_Reads_.] Ay, ay, so it shall be,--_Tell me, said he, my_ Bellemante; _Will you be kind to your_ Charmante? [_Reads those two lines, and is amaz’d_. Ha, Heav’ns! What’s this? I am amaz’d! --And yet I’ll venture once more. [_Writes and studies_. --_I blushed and veil’d my wishing Eyes_. [_Lays down the Book, and walks as before_. --_Wishing Eyes_! [Har. _writes as before_. [_She turns and takes the Tablet_. --_And answer’d only with my Sighs_. Ha! What is this? Witchcraft, or some Divinity of Love? Some Cupid sure invisible. Once more I’ll try the Charm. [_Writes_. --Cou’d I a better way my Love impart? [_Studies and walks_. --_Impart_-- [_He writes as before_. --_And without speaking, tell him all my Heart_. --’Tis here again, but where’s the Hand that writ it? [_Looks about_. --The little Deity that will be seen But only in his Miracles. It cannot be a Devil, For here’s no Sin nor Mischief in all this.

_Enter_ Charmante. _She hides the Tablet, he steps
to her, and snatches it from her and reads_.

_Char_. reads.

_Out of a great Curiosity,
A Shepherd this implor’d of me.
Tell me, said he, my_ Bellemante,
_Will you be kind to your_ Charmante?
_I blush’d, and veil’d my wishing Eyes,
And answer’d only with my Sighs.
Cou’d I a better way my Love impart?
And without speaking, tell him all my Heart_.

_Char_. Whose is this different Character? [_Looks angry_.

_Bell_. ‘Tis yours for ought I know.

_Char_. Away, my Name was put here for a blind. What Rhiming Fop have you been clubbing Wit withal?

_Bell_. Ah! _mon Dieu!--Charmante_ jealous?

_Char_. Have I not cause?--Who writ these Boremes?

_Bell_. Some kind assisting Deity, for ought I know.

_Char_. Some kind assisting Coxcomb, that I know. The Ink’s yet wet, the Spark is near I find.--

_Bell_. Ah, _Malheureuse_! How was I mistaken in this Man?

_Char_. Mistaken! What, did you take me for an easy Fool to be impos’d upon?--One that wou’d be cuckolded by every feather’d Fool; that you’d call a _Beau un Gallant Homme_. ‘Sdeath! Who wou’d doat upon a fond She-Fop?--a vain conceited amorous Coquette. [_Goes out, she pulls him back_.

_Enter_ Scaramouch _running_.

_Sea_. Oh Madam! hide your Lover, or we are all undone.

_Char_. I will not hide, till I know the thing that made the Verses.
[_The Doctor calling as on the Stairs_.

_Doct. Bellemante_, Niece,--_Bellemante_.

_Scar_. She’s coming, Sir.--Where, where shall I hide him? --Oh, the Closet’s open! [_Thrusts him into the Closet by force_.

_Enter_ Doctor.

_Doct_. Oh Niece! Ill Luck, Ill Luck, I must leave you to night; my Brother the Advocate is sick, and has sent for me; ‘tis three long Leagues, and dark as ‘tis, I must go.--They say he is dying. Here, take my Keys, [_Pulls out his Keys, one falls down_. and go into my Study, and look over all my Papers, and bring me all those mark’d with a Cross and figure of Three, they concern my Brother and I.

[_She looks on_ Scaramouch, _and makes pitiful Signs, and goes out_.

--Come, _Scaramouch_, and get me ready for my Journey; and on your Life, let not a Door be open’d till my Return.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Mopsophil. Har. _peeps from under the Table_.

_Har_. Ha! _Mopsophil_, and alone!

_Mop_. Well, ‘tis a delicious thing to be rich; what a world of Lovers it invites: I have one for every Hand, and the Favorite for my Lips.

_Har_. Ay, him wou’d I be glad to know. [_Peeping_.

_Mop_. But of all my Lovers, I am for the Farmer’s Son, because he keeps a Calash--and I’ll swear a Coach is the most agreeable thing about a Man.

_Har_. Ho, ho!

_Mop_. Ah, me,--What’s that?

[_He answers in a shrill Voice_.

_Har_. The Ghost of a poor Lover, dwindled into a Heyho.

[_He rises from under the Table, and falls at her Feet_.
Scaramouch _enters. She runs off squeaking_.

_Scar_. Ha, My Rival and my Mistress!--Is this done like a Man of Honour, Monsieur _Harlequin_, to take advantages to injure me? [_Draws_.

_Har_. Advantages are lawful in Love and War.

_Scar_. ‘Twas contrary to our League and Covenant; therefore I defy thee as a Traytor.

_Har_. I scorn to fight with thee, because I once call’d thee Brother.

_Scar_. Then thou art a Poltroon, that’s to say, a Coward.

_Har_. Coward! nay, then I am provok’d, come on.

_Scar_. Pardon me, Sir, I gave the Coward, and you ought to strike.

[_They go to fight ridiculously, and ever as_ Scaramouch
_passes_, Harlequin _leaps aside, and skips so nimbly about,
he cannot touch him for his Life; which after a while
endeavouring in vain, he lays down his Sword_.

--If you be for dancing, Sir, I have my Weapons for all occasions.

[Scar. _pulls out a Flute Doux, and falls to playing_. Har.
_throws down his, and falls a dancing; after the Dance, they
shake hands_.

_Har_. _Ha mon bon ami_.--Is not this better than duelling?

_Scar_. But not altogether so heroick, Sir. Well, for the future, let us have fair play; no Tricks to undermine each other, but which of us is chosen to be the happy Man, the other shall be content.

_Ela_. [_Within_.] Cousin _Bellemante_, Cousin.

_Scar_. ‘Slife, let’s be gone, lest we be seen in the Ladies Apartment.

[Scar. _slips_ Harlequin _behind the Door_.

_Enter_ Elaria.

_Ela_. How now, how came you here?--

_Scar_. [_Signs to_ Har. _to go out_.] I came to tell you, Madam, my Master’s just taking Mule to go his Journey to Night, and that Don _Cinthio_ is in the Street, for a lucky moment to enter in.

_Ela_. But what if any one by my Father’s Order, or he himself should by some chance surprize us?

_Scar_. If we be, I have taken order against a Discovery. I’ll go see if the old Gentleman be gone, and return with your Lover. [_Goes out_.

_Ela_. I tremble, but know not whether ‘tis with Fear or Joy.

_Enter_ Cinthio.

_Cin_. My dear _Elaria_-- [_Runs to imbrace her, She starts from him_. --Ha,--shun my Arms, _Elaria_!

_Ela_. Heavens! Why did you come so soon?

_Cin_. Is it too soon, whene’er ‘tis safe, _Elaria_?

_Ela_. I die with Fear--Met you not _Scaramouch_? He went to bid you wait a while; what shall I do?

_Cin_. Why this Concern? none of the House has seen me. I saw your Father taking Horse.

_Ela_. Sure you mistake, methinks I hear his Voice.

_Doct_. [_Below_.]--My Key--The Key of my Laboratory. Why, Knave _Scaramouch_, where are you?

_Ela_. Do you hear that, Sir?--Oh, I’m undone! Where shall I hide you?--He approaches. [_She searches where to hide him_. Ha! my Cousin’s Closet’s open,--step in a little. [_He goes in, she puts out the Candle_.

_Enter the_ Doctor. _She gets round the Chamber to the
Door, and as he advances in, she steals out_.

_Doct_. Here I must have dropt it; a Light, a Light there.

_Enter_ Cinthio, _from the Closet, pulls_ Charmante
_out, they not knowing each other_.

_Cin_. Oh, this perfidious Woman! No marvel she was so surpriz’d and angry at my Approach to Night.

_Cha_. Who can this be?--but I’ll be prepar’d.
[_Lays his Hand on his Sword_.

_Doct_. Why, _Scaramouch_, Knave, a Light!
[_Turns to the Door to call_.

_Enter_ Scaramouch _with a Light, and seeing the two Lovers
there, runs against his Master, puts out the Candle, and
flings him down and falls over him. At the entrance of the
Candle_, Charmante _slipt from_ Cinthio _into the Closet_.
Cinthio _gropes to find him; when_ Mopsophil _and_ Elaria,
_hearing a great Noise, enter with a Light_. Cinthio _finding
he was discovered falls to acting a Mad-man, _Scaramouch
_helps up the Doctor, and bows_.

Ha,--a Man,--and in my House,--Oh dire Misfortune! --Who are you, Sir?

_Cin_. Men call me _Gog Magog_, the Spirit of Power; My Right-hand Riches holds, my Left-hand Honour. Is there a City Wife wou’d be a Lady?--Bring her to me, Her easy Cuckold shall be dubb’d a Knight.

_Ela_. Oh Heavens! a Mad-man, Sir.

_Cin_. Is there a tawdry Fop wou’d have a Title? A rich Mechanick that wou’d be an Alderman? Bring ‘em to me, And I’ll convert that Coxcomb, and that Blockhead, into Your Honour and Right-Worshipful.

_Doct_. Mad, stark mad! Why, Sirrah, Rogue--_Scaramouch_ --How got this Mad-man in?

[_While the_ Doctor _turns to_ Scaramouch, Cinthio
_speaks softly to_ Elaria.

_Cin_. Oh, thou perfidious Maid! Who hast thou hid in yonder conscious Closet? [_Aside to her_.

_Scar_. Why, Sir, he was brought in a Chair for your Advice; but how he rambled from the Parlour to this Chamber, I know not.

_Cin_. Upon a winged Horse, ycleped _Pegasus_, Swift as the fiery Racers of the Sun,--I fly--I fly--See how I mount, and cut the liquid Sky. [_Runs out_.

_Doct_. Alas, poor Gentleman, he’s past all Cure.--But, Sirrah, for the future, take you care that no young mad Patients be brought into my House.

_Scar_. I shall, Sir,--and see,--here’s your Key you look’d for.

_Doct_. That’s well; I must be gone--Bar up the Doors, and upon Life or Death let no man enter. [_Exit_ Doctor, _and all with him, with the Light_.

Charmante _peeps out--and by degrees comes all out,
listning every step_.

_Char_. Who the Devil cou’d that be that pull’d me from the Closet? but at last I’m free, and the Doctor’s gone; I’ll to _Cinthio_, and bring him to pass this Night with our Mistresses. [_Exit_.

_As he is gone off, enter_ Cinthio _groping_.

_Cin_. Now for this lucky Rival, if his Stars will make this last part of his Adventure such. I hid my self in the next Chamber, till I heard the Doctor go, only to return to be reveng’d. [_He gropes his way into the Closet, with his Sword drawn_.

_Enter_ Elaria _with a Light_.

_Ela_. _Scaramouch_ tells me _Charmante_ is conceal’d in the Closet, whom _Cinthio_ surely has mistaken for some Lover of mine, and is jealous; but I’ll send _Charmante_ after him, to make my peace and undeceive him. [_Goes to the Door_. --Sir, Sir, where are you? they are all gone, you may adventure out. [Cinthio _comes out_. Ha,--_Cinthio_ here?

_Cin_. Yes, Madam, to your shame: Now your Perfidiousness is plain, false Woman, ’.is well your Lover had the dexterity of escaping, I’ad spoil’d his making Love else. [_Goes from her, she holds him_.

_Ela_. Prithee hear me.

_Cin_. But since my Ignorance of his Person saves his Life, live and possess him, till I can discover him. [_Goes out_.

_Ela_. Go, peevish Fool-- Whose Jealousy believes me given to change, Let thy own Torments be my just Revenge.

[_Exit_.

_The End of the First Act_.