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The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. III by Aphra Behn

Part 10 out of 12

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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

_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 chere_. [_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

_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!


_Chevalier a 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.

_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.


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

_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

_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

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

_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

_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.


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.

_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.


_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

_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.

_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,
'Tis 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.


_The End of the First Act_.


SCENE I. _A Chamber in the_ Doctor's _House_.

_An Antick Dance_.

_After the Musick has plaid, enter_ Elaria; _to her_ Bellemante.

_Ela_. Heavens, _Bellemante_! Where have you been?

_Bell_. Fatigu'd with the most disagreeable Affair, for a Person of my
Humour, in the World. Oh, how I hate Business, which I do no more mind,
than a Spark does the Sermon, who is ogling his Mistress at Church all
the while: I have been ruffling over twenty Reams of Paper for my
Uncle's Writings.

_Enter_ Scaramouch.

_Scar_. So, so, the old Gentleman is departed this wicked World, and the
House is our own for this Night.--Where are the Sparks? where are the

_Ela_. Nay, Heaven knows.

_Bell_. How! I hope not so; I left _Charmante_ confin'd to my Closet,
when my Uncle had like to have surpriz'd us together: Is he not here?

_Ela_. No, he's escap'd, but he has made sweet doings.

_Bell_. Heavens, Cousin! What?

_Ela_. My Father was coming into the Chamber, and had like to have taken
_Cinthio_ with me, when, to conceal him, I put him into your Closet, not
knowing of _Charmante's_ being there, and which, in the dark, he took
for a Gallant of mine; had not my Father's Presence hinder'd, I believe
there had been Murder committed; however they both escap'd unknown.

_Scar_. Pshaw, is that all? Lovers Quarrels are soon Adjusted; I'll to
'em, unfold the Riddle, and bring 'em back--take no care, but go in and
dress you for the Ball; _Mopsophil_ has Habits which your Lovers sent to
put on: the Fiddles, Treat, and all are prepar'd.

_Enter_ Mopsophil.

_Mop_. Madam, your Cousin _Florinda_, with a Lady, are come to visit

_Bell_. I'm glad on't, 'tis a good Wench, and we'll trust her with our
Mirth and Secret.

[_They go out_.

SCENE II. _Changes to the Street_.

_Enter Page with a Flambeaux, followed by_ Cinthio; _passes over
the Stage_. Scaramouch _follows_ Cinthio _in a Campaign Coat_.

_Scar_. 'Tis _Cinthio_--Don _Cinthio_. [_Calls, he turns_.
Well, what's the Quarrel?--How fell ye out?

_Cin_. You may inform your self I believe, for these close Intrigues
cannot be carried on without your Knowledge.

_Scar_. What Intrigues, Sir? be quick, for I'm in haste.

_Cin_. Who was the Lover I surpriz'd i'th' Closet?

_Scar. Deceptio visus_, Sir; the Error of the Eyes.

_Cin_. Thou Dog, I felt him too; but since the Rascal 'scaped me,
I'll be reveng'd on thee.

[_Goes to beat him; he running away, runs against_
Harlequin, _who is entering with_ Charmante, _and
like to have thrown 'em both down_.

_Char_. Ha,--What's the matter here?

_Scar_. Seignior Don _Charmante_.
[_Then he struts courageously in with 'em_.

_Char_. What, _Cinthio_ in a Rage!
Who's the unlucky Object?

_Cin_. All Man and Woman Kind: _Elaria's_ false.

_Char. Elaria_ false! take heed, sure her nice Virtue
Is proof against the Vices of her Sex.
Say rather _Bellemante_,
She who by Nature's light and wavering.
The Town contains not such a false Impertinent.
This Evening I surpriz'd her in her Chamber,
Writing of Verses, and between her Lines
Some Spark had newly pen'd his proper Stuff.
Curse of the Jilt, I'll be her Fool no more.

_Har_. I doubt you are mistaken in that, Sir, for 'twas
I was the Spark that writ the proper Stuff
To do you service.

_Char_. Thou!

_Scar_. Ay, we that spend our Lives and Fortunes here to serve you,--to
be us'd like Pimps and Scoundrels. Come, Sir, satisfy him who 'twas was
hid i'th' Closet, when he came in and found you.

_Cin_. Ha,--is't possible? Was it _Charmante_?

_Char_. Was it you, _Cinthio_? Pox on't, what Fools are we, we cou'd not
know one another by Instinct?

_Scar_. Well, well, dispute no more this clear Case, but let's hasten to
your Mistresses.

_Cin_. I'm asham'd to appear before _Elaria_.

_Char_. And I to _Bellemante_.

_Scar_. Come, come, take Heart of Grace; pull your Hats down over your
Eyes; put your Arms across; sigh and look scurvily; your simple Looks
are ever a Token of Repentance: come--come along.

[_Exeunt Omnes_.

SCENE III. _Changes to the Inside of the House. The Front of the Scene
is only a Curtain or Hangings, to be drawn up at Pleasure_.

_Enter_ Elaria, Bellemante, Mopsophil, Florinda, _and Ladies,
dress'd in Masking Habits_.

_Ela_. I am extremely pleas'd with these Habits, Cousin.

_Bell_. They are _a la Gothic_ and _Uncommune_.

_Flor_. Your Lovers have a very good Fancy, Cousin, I long to see 'em.

_Ela_. And so do I. I wonder _Scaramouch_ stays so, and what Success
he has.

_Bell_. You have no cause to doubt, you can so easily acquit your self;
but I, what shall I do? who can no more imagine who shou'd write those
Boremes, than who I shall love next, if I break off with _Charmante_.

_Flor_. If he be a Man of Honour, Cousin, when a Maid protests her

_Bell_. Ay, but he's a Man of Wit too, Cousin, and knows when Women
protest most, they likely lye most.

_Ela_. Most commonly, for Truth needs no asseveration.

_Bell_. That's according to the Disposition of your Lover, for some
believe you most, when you most abuse and cheat 'em; some are so
obstinate, they wou'd damn a Woman with Protesting, before she can
convince 'em.

_Ela_. Such a one is not worth convincing, I wou'd not make the World
wise at the expence of a Virtue.

_Bell_. Nay, he shall e'en remain as Heaven made him for me, since there
are Men enough for all uses.

_Enter_ Charmante _and_ Cinthio, _dress'd in their Gothic Habits_,
Scaramouch, Harlequin _and Musick_. Charmante _and_ Cinthio _kneel_.

_Cin_. Can you forgive us?

[Elaria _takes him up_.

_Bell_. That, _Cinthio_, you're convinc'd, I do not wonder; but how
_Charmante_ is inspir'd, I know not.

[_Takes him up_.

_Char_. Let it suffice, I'm satisfy'd, my _Bellemante_.

_Ela_. Pray know my Cousin _Florinda_.

[_They salute the Lady_.

_Bell_. Come, let us not lose time, since we are all Friends.

_Char_. The best use we can make of it, is to talk of Love.

_Bell_. Oh! we shall have time enough for that hereafter; besides, you
may make Love in Dancing as well as in Sitting; you may gaze, sigh, and
press the Hand, and now and then receive a Kiss, what wou'd you more?

_Char_. Yes, wish a little more.

_Bell_. We were unreasonable to forbid you that cold Joy, nor shall you
wish long in vain, if you bring Matters so about, to get us with my
Uncle's Consent.

_Ela_. Our Fortunes depending solely on his Pleasure, which are too
considerable to lose.

_Cin_. All things are order'd as I have written you at large; our Scenes
and all our Properties are ready; we have no more to do but to banter
the old Gentleman into a little more Faith, which the next Visit of our
new Cabalist _Charmante_ will complete.

[_The Musick plays_.

_Enter some Anticks, and dance. They all sit the while_.

_Ela_. Your Dancers have performed well, but 'twere fit we knew who we
have trusted with this Evening's Intrigue.

_Cin_. Those, Madam, who are to assist us in carrying on a greater
Intrigue, the gaining of you. They are our Kinsmen.

_Ela_. Then they are doubly welcome.

[_Here is a Song in Dialogue, with Flute Doux and Harpsicals,
between a Shepherd and Shepherdess; which ended, they all dance
a Figure Dance_.

_Cin_. Hark, what Noise is that? sure 'tis in the next Room.

_Doctor [Within.] Scaramouch, Scaramouch_!

[Scaramouch _runs to the Door, and holds it fast_.

_Scar_. Ha,--the Devil in the likeness of my old Master's Voice, for it
is impossible it should be he himself.

_Char_. If it be he, how got he in? did you not secure the Doors?

_Ela_. He always has a Key to open 'em. Oh! what shall we do? there's no
escaping him; he's in the next Room, through which you are to pass.

_Doct. [Within.] Scaramouch_, Knave, where are you?

_Scar_. 'Tis he, 'tis he, follow me all--

[_He goes with all the Company behind the Front Curtain_.

_Doct. [Within.]_ I tell you, Sirrah, I heard the noise of Fiddles.

_Peter. [_Within.]_ No surely, Sir, 'twas a Mistake.

[_Knocking at the Door_.

[Scaramouch _having placed them all in the Hanging, in which they
make the Figures, where they stand without Motion in Postures, he
comes out. He opens the Door with a Candle in his Hand_.

_Enter the_ Doctor _and_ Peter _with a Light_.

_Scar_. Bless me, Sir! Is it you--or your Ghost?

_Doct_. 'Twere good for you, Sir, if I were a thing of Air; but as I am
a substantial Mortal, I will lay it on as substantially--
[_Canes him. He cries_.

_Scar_. What d'ye mean, Sir? what d'ye mean?

_Doct_. Sirrah, must I stand waiting your Leisure, while you are roguing
here? I will reward ye. [_Beats him_.

_Scar_. Ay, and I shall deserve it richly, Sir, when you know all.

_Doct_. I guess all, Sirrah, and I heard all, and you shall be rewarded
for all. Where have you hid the Fiddles, you Rogue?

_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir!

_Doct_. Ay, Fiddles, Knave.

_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir!--Where?

_Doct_. Here, here I heard 'em, thou false Steward of thy Master's

_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir! Sure 'twas Wind got into your Head, and whistled
in your Ears, riding so late, Sir.

_Doct_. Ay, thou false Varlet, there's another debt I owe thee, for
bringing me so damnable a Lye: my Brother's well--I met his Valet but a
League from Town, and found thy Roguery out. [_Beats him. He cries_.

_Scar_. Is this the Reward I have for being so diligent since you went?

_Doct_. In what, thou Villain? in what?

[_The Curtain is drawn up, and discovers the Hangings where
all of them stand_.

_Scar_. Why, look you, Sir, I have, to surprize you with Pleasure,
against you came home, been putting up this Piece of Tapestry, the best
in Italy, for the Rareness of the Figures, Sir.

_Doct_. Ha! hum--It is indeed a Stately Piece of Work; how came I by 'em?

_Scar_. 'Twas sent your Reverence from the _Virtuoso_, or some of the

_Doct_. I must confess, the Workmanship is excellent;--but still I do
insist I heard the Musick.

_Scar_. 'Twas then the tuning of the Spheres, some Serenade, Sir, from
the Inhabitants of the Moon.

_Doct_. Hum, from the Moon,--and that may be.

_Scar_. Lord, d'ye think I wou'd deceive your Reverence?

_Doct_. From the Moon, a Serenade,--I see no signs on't here, indeed it
must be so--I'll think on't more at leisure. [_Aside_.
--Prithee what Story's this? [_Looks on the Hangings_.

_Scar_. Why, Sir,--'Tis--

_Doct_. Hold up the Candles higher, and nearer.

[Peter _and_ Scaramouch _hold Candles near. He takes a Perspective,
and looks through it; and coming nearer_ Harlequin, _who is placed
on a Tree in the Hangings, hits him on the Head with his Trunchion.
He starts and looks about_. Harlequin _sits still.

_Scar_. Sir--

_Doct_. What was that struck me?

_Scar_. Struck you, Sir! Imagination.

_Doct_. Can my Imagination feel, Sirrah?

_Scar_. Oh, the most tenderly of any part about one, Sir!

_Doct_. Hum--that may be.

_Scar_. Are you a great Philosopher, and know not that, Sir?

_Doct_. This Fellow has a glimpse of Profundity. [_Aside. Looks again_.
--I like the Figures well.

_Scar_. You will, when you see 'em by Day-light, Sir.

[Har. _hits him again. The_ Doctor _sees him_.

_Doct_. Ha,--Is that Imagination too?--Betray'd, betray'd, undone! run
for my Pistols, call up my Servants, _Peter_, a Plot upon my Daughter
and my Niece!

[_Runs out with_ Peter. Scaramouch _puts out the Candle,
they come out of the Hanging, which is drawn away. He places
'em in a Row just at the Entrance_.

_Scar_. Here, here, fear nothing, hold by each other, that when I go
out, all may go; that is, slip out, when you hear the Doctor is come
in again, which he will certainly do, and all depart to your respective

_Cin_. And leave thee to bear the Brunt?

_Scar_. Take you no care for that, I'll put it into my Bill of Charges,
and be paid all together.

_Enter the_ Doctor _with Pistols, and_ Peter.

_Doct_. What, by dark? that shall not save you, Villains, Traitors to my
Glory and Repose.--_Peter_, hold fast the Door, let none 'scape.

[_They all slip out_.

_Pet_. I'll warrant you, Sir.

[Doctor _gropes about, stamps and calls_.

_Doct_. Lights there--Lights--I'm sure they cou'd not 'scape.

_Pet_. Impossible, Sir.

_Enter_ Scaramouch _undress'd in his Shirt, with a Light; he starts_.

_Scar_. Bless me!--what's here?

_Doct_. Ha--Who art thou? [_Amaz'd to see him enter so_.

_Scar_. I, who the Devil are you, and you go to that?
[_Rubs his Eyes, and brings the Candle nearer, looks on him_.
--Mercy upon us!--Why, what, is't you, Sir, return'd so soon?

_Doct_. Return'd! [_Looking sometimes on him, sometimes about_.

_Scar_. Ay, Sir, did you not go out of Town last night, to your Brother
the Advocate?

_Doct_. Thou Villain, thou question'st me, as if thou knew'st not that I
was return'd.

_Scar_. I know, Sir! how shou'd I know? I'm sure I am but just awakened
from the sweetest Dream.--

_Doct_. You dream still, Sirrah, but I shall wake your Rogueship.--Were
you not here but now, shewing me a piece of Tapestry, you Villain?

_Scar_. Tapestry!

[Mopsophil _listning all the while_.

_Doct_. Yes, Rogue, yes, for which I'll have thy Life.
[_Offering a Pistol_.

_Scar_. Are you stark mad, Sir? or do I dream still?

_Doct_. Tell me, and tell me quickly, Rogue, who were those Traitors
that were hid but now in the Disguise of a piece of Hangings.
[_Holds the Pistol to his Breast_.

_Scar_. Bless me! you amaze me, Sir. What conformity has every Word you
say, to my rare Dream! Pray let me feel you, Sir,--Are you human?

_Doct_. You shall feel I am, Sirrah, if thou confess not.

_Scar_. Confess, Sir! What shall I confess?--I understand not your
Cabalistical Language; but in mine, I confess that you wak'd me from the
rarest Dream--Where methought the Emperor of the Moon World was in our
House, dancing and revelling; and methoughts his Grace was fallen
desperately in love with Mistriss _Elaria_, and that his Brother, the
Prince, Sir, of _Thunderland_, was also in love with Mistriss
_Bellemante_; and methoughts they descended to court 'em in your
Absence--And that at last you surpriz'd 'em, and that they transform'd
themselves into a Suit of Hangings to deceive you. But at last,
methought you grew angry at something, and they all fled to Heaven
again; and after a deal of Thunder and Lightning, I wak'd, Sir, and
hearing human Voices here, came to see what the Matter was.

[_This while the_ Doctor _lessens his signs of Rage by degrees,
and at last stands in deep Contemplation_.

_Doct_. May I credit this?

_Scar_. Credit it! By all the Honour of your House, by my unseparable
Veneration for the Mathematicks, 'tis true, Sir.

_Doct_. That famous _Rosycrusian_, who yesterday visited me, and told me
the Emperor of the Moon was in love with a fair Mortal--This Dream is
Inspiration in this Fellow--He must have wondrous Virtue in him, to be
worthy of these divine Intelligences. [_Aside_.--But if that Mortal
shou'd be _Elaria_! but no more, I dare not yet suppose it--perhaps the
thing was real and no Dream, for oftentimes the grosser part is hurried
away in Sleep by the force of Imagination, and is wonderfully agitated
--This Fellow might be present in his Sleep,--of this we've frequent
Instances--I'll to my Daughter and my Niece, and hear what Knowledge
they may have of this.

_Mop_. Will you so? I'll secure you, the Frolick shall go round.
[_Aside, and Exit_.

_Doct. Scaramouch_, if you have not deceiv'd me in this Matter, time
will convince me farther; if it rest here, I shall believe you false.

_Scar_. Good Sir, suspend your Judgment and your Anger till then.

_Doct_. I'll do't, go back to bed.

[_Ex_. Doct. _and_ Peter.

_Scar_. No, Sir, 'tis Morning now--and I'm up for all day.--This Madness
is a pretty sort of pleasant Disease, when it tickles but in one
Vein--Why, here's my Master now, as great a Scholar, as grave and wise a
Man, in all Argument and Discourse, as can be met with; yet name but the
Moon, and he runs into ridicule, and grows as mad as the Wind.

Well, Doctor, if thou canst be madder yet,
We'll find a Medicine that shall cure your Fit,

--Better than all _Galenicus_.

[_Goes out_.

SCENE IV. _Draws off to_ Bellemante's _Chamber, discovers_ Elaria,
Bellemante _and_ Mopsophil _in Night-Gowns_.

_Mop_. You have your Lessons, stand to it bravely, and the Town's our
own, Madam.

[_They put themselves in Postures of Sleeping, leaning on the
Table_, Mopsophil _lying at their Feet. Enter_ Doctor _softly_.

_Doct_. Ha, not in Bed! this gives me mortal Fears.

_Bell_. Ah, Prince-- [_She speaks as in her Sleep_.

_Doct_. Ha, Prince! [_Goes nearer, and listens_.

_Bell_. How little Faith I give to all your Courtship, who leaves our
Orb so soon. [_In a feign'd Voice_.

_Doct_. Ha, said she Orb? [_Goes nearer_.

_Bell_. But since you are of a celestial Race,
And easily can penetrate
Into the utmost limits of the Thought,
Why shou'd I fear to tell you of your Conquest?
--And thus implore your Aid.

[_Rises and runs to the_ Doctor; _kneels,
and holds him fast. He shews signs of Joy_.

_Doct_. I am ravish'd!

_Bell_. Ah, Prince Divine, take pity on a Mortal.

_Doct_. I am rapt!

_Bell_. And take me with you to the World above!

_Doct_. The Moon, the Moon she means; I am transported, over-joy'd, and
[_Leaping and jumping from her Hands, she seems to wake_.

_Bell_. Ha, my Uncle come again to interrupt us!

_Doct_. Hide nothing from me, my dear _Bellemante_, since all already is
discover'd to me--and more.

_Ela_. Oh, why have you wak'd me from the softest Dream that ever Maid
was blest with?

_Doct_. What--what, my best _Elaria_? [_With over-joy_.

_Ela_. Methought I entertain'd a Demi-God, one of the gay Inhabitants of
the Moon.

_Bell_. I'm sure mine was no Dream--I wak'd, I heard, I saw, I
spoke--and danc'd to the Musick of the Spheres; and methought my
glorious Lover ty'd a Diamond Chain about my Arm--and see 'tis all
substantial. [_Shows her Arm_.

_Ela_. And mine a Ring, of more than mortal Lustre.

_Doct_. Heaven keep me moderate! lest excess of Joy shou'd make my
Virtue less. [_Stifling his Joy_.
--There is a wondrous Mystery in this,
A mighty Blessing does attend your Fates.
Go in and pray to the chaste Powers above
To give you Virtue for such Rewards. [_They go in_.
--How this agrees with what the learned Cabalist inform'd me of last
Night! He said, that great _Iredonozor_, the Emperor of the Moon, was
enamour'd on a fair Mortal. It must be so--and either he descended to
court my Daughter personally, which for the rareness of the Novelty,
she takes to be a Dream; or else, what they and I beheld, was visionary,
by way of a sublime Intelligence:--And possibly--'tis only thus: the
People of that World converse with Mortals.--I must be satisfy'd in this
main Point of deep Philosophy.

I'll to my Study,--for I cannot rest,
Till I this weighty Mystery have discuss'd.

[_Ex. very gravely_.

SCENE V. _The Garden_.

_Enter_ Scaramouch _with a Ladder_.

_Scar_. Though I am come off _en Cavalier_ with my Master, I am not with
my Mistress, whom I promised to console this Night, and 'tis but just I
shou'd make good this Morning; 'twill be rude to surprize her sleeping,
and more gallant to wake her with a Serenade at her Window.

[_Sets the Ladder to her Window, fetches his Lute and goes
up the ladder_.

He plays and sings this Song.

_When Maidens are young and in their Spring
Of Pleasure, of Pleasure, let 'em take their full Swing,
full Swing,--full Swing,
And love, and dance, and play, and sing.
For_ Silvia, _believe it, when Youth is done,
There's nought but hum drum, hum drum, hum drum;
There's nought but hum drum, hum drum, hum drum.

Then_ Silvia _be wise--be wise--be wise,
Though Painting and Dressing for awhile are Supplies,
And may--surprise--
But when the Fire's going out in your Eyes,
It twinkles, it twinkles, it twinkles, and dies.
And then to hear Love, to hear Love from you,
I'd as live hear an Owl cry--Wit to woo,
Wit to woo, wit to woo_.

_Enter _Mopsophil_ above_.

_Mop_. What woful Ditty-making Mortal's this,
That e'er the Lark her early Note has sung,
Does doleful Love beneath my Casement thrum?
-Ah, Seignior _Scaramouch_, is it you?

_Scar_. Who shou'd it be that takes such pains to sue!

_Mop_. Ah, Lover most true blue.

_Enter_ Harlequin _in Woman's Clothes_.

_Har_. If I can now but get admittance, I shall not only deliver the
young Ladies their Letters from their Lovers, but get some opportunity,
in this Disguise, to slip this _Billet-Doux_ into _Mopsophil's_ Hand,
and bob my Comrade _Scaramouch_.--Ha, What do I see?--My Mistress at the
Window, courting my Rival! Ah Gipsy!

_Scar_. But we lose precious time, since you design me a kind Hour in
your Chamber.

_Har_. Oh Traitor!

_Mop_. You'll be sure to keep it from _Harlequin_.

_Har_. Ah yes, he, hang him, Fool, he takes you for a Saint.

_Scar. Harlequin_! Hang him, shotten Herring.

_Har_. Ay, a Cully, a Noddy.

_Mop_. A meer Zany.

_Har_. Ah, hard-hearted _Turk_.

_Mop_. Fit for nothing but a Cuckold.

_Har_. Monster of Ingratitude! How shall I be reveng'd?
[_Scar, going over the Balcony_.
--Hold, hold, thou perjur'd Traitor.
[_Cries out in a Woman's Voice_.

_Mop_. Ha, discover'd!--A Woman in the Garden!

_Har_. Come down, come down, thou false perfidious Wretch.

_Scar_. Who in the Devil's Name, art thou? And to whom dost thou speak?

_Har_. To thee, that false Deceiver, thou hast broke thy Vows, thy
lawful Vows of Wedlock. [_Bawling out_.
Oh, oh, that I shou'd live to see the Day. [_Crying_.

_Scar_. Who mean you, Woman?

_Har_. Whom shou'd I mean but thou,--my lawful Spouse?

_Mop_. Oh Villain! Lawful Spouse!--Let me come to her.

[Scar, _comes down, as_ Mopsophil _flings out of the Balcony_.

_Scar_. The Woman's mad--hark ye, Jade, how long have you been thus

_Har_. E'er since I lov'd and trusted thee, false Varlet.--See here, the
Witness of my Love and Shame.

[_Bawls, and points to her Belly.

Just then_ Mopsophil _enters_.

_Mop_. How! with Child! Out, Villain! was I made a Property?

_Scar_. Hear me.

_Har_. Oh, thou Heathen Christian! was not one Woman enough?

_Mop_. Ay, Sirrah, answer to that.

_Scar_. I shall be sacrific'd.

_Mop_. I am resolv'd to marry to morrow--either to the Apothecary or the
Farmer, Men I never saw, to be reveng'd on thee, thou termagant Infidel.

_Enter the_ Doctor.

_Doct_. What Noise, what Out-cry, what Tumult's this?

_Har_. Ha, the Doctor!--What shall I do?
[_Gets to the Door_, Scar. _pulls her in_.

_Doct_. A Woman! some Baud I am sure;--Woman, what's your Business here?

_Har_. I came, an't like your Seigniorship, to Madam the Governante here,
to serve her in the Quality of a _Fille de Chambre_ to the young Ladies.

_Doct_. A _Fille de Chambre_! 'tis so, a she Pimp.

_Har_. Ah, Seignior--
[_Makes his little dapper Leg, instead of a Curt'sy_.

_Doct_. How now, what, do you mock me?

_Har_. Oh Seignior! [_Gets nearer the Door_.

_Mop_. Stay, stay, Mistress; and what Service are you able to do the
Seignior's Daughters?

_Har_. Is this Seignior Doctor _Baliardo_, Madam?

_Mop_. Yes.

_Har_. Oh! he's a very handsome Gentleman--indeed.

_Doct_. Ay, ay, what Service can you do, Mistress?

_Har_. Why, Seignior, I can tie a Crevat the best of any Person in
_Naples_, and I can comb a Periwig--and I can--

_Doct_. Very proper Service for young Ladies; you, I believe, have been
_Fille de Chambre_ to some young Cavaliers?

_Har_. Most true, Seignior; why shou'd not the Cavaliers keep _Filles de
Chambre_, as well as great Ladies _Valets de Chambre_?

_Doct_. Indeed 'tis equally reasonable.--'Tis a Baud. [_Aside_.
But have you never serv'd Ladies?

_Har_. Oh yes, I serv'd a Parson's Wife?

_Doct_. Is that a great Lady?

_Har_. Ay, surely, Sir, what is she else? for she wore her Mantuas of
_Brocade d'or_, Petticoats lac'd up to the Gathers, her Points, her
Patches, Paints and Perfumes, and sat in the uppermost place in the
Church too.

_Mop_. But have you never serv'd Countesses and Dutchesses?

_Har_. Oh, yes, Madam; the last I serv'd, was an Alderman's Wife in the

_Mop_. Was that a Countess or a Dutchess?

_Har_. Ay, certainly--for they have all the Money; and then for Clothes,
Jewels, and rich Furniture, and eating, they out-do the very _Vice-Reine_
her self.

_Doct_. This is a very ignorant running Baud,--therefore first search
her for _Billets-Doux_, and then have her pump'd.

_Har_. Ah, Seignior,--Seignior.

[Scar. _searches him, finds Letters_.

_Scar_. Ha, to _Elaria_--and _Bellemante_!
[_Reads the Outside, pops 'em into his Bosom_.
These are from their Lovers.--Ha, a Note to _Mopsophil_.--Oh, Rogue!
have I found you?

_Har_. If you have, 'tis but Trick for your Trick, Seignior _Scaramouch_,
and you may spare the Pumping.

_Scar_. For once, Sirrah, I'll bring you off, and deliver your Letters.
--Sir, do you not know who this is? Why, 'tis a Rival of mine, who put
on this Disguise to cheat me of Mistress _Mopsophil_.--See, here's a
Billet to her.

_Doct_. What is he?

_Scar_. A Mungrel Dancing-Master; therefore, Sir, since all the Injury's
mine, I'll pardon him for a Dance, and let the Agility of his Heels save
his Bones, with your Permission, Sir.

_Doct_. With all my Heart, and am glad he comes off so comically.

[Harlequin _dances_.

[_A knocking at the Gate_. Scar. _goes and returns_.

_Scar_. Sir, Sir, here's the rare Philosopher who was here yesterday.

_Doct_. Give him Entrance, and all depart.

_Enter_ Charmante.

_Char_. Blest be those Stars that first conducted me to so much Worth
and Virtue; you are their Darling, Sir, for whom they wear their
brightest Lustre. Your Fortune is establish'd, you are made, Sir.

_Doct_. Let me contain my Joy. [_Keeping in an impatient Joy_.
--May I be worthy, Sir, to apprehend you?

_Char_. After long searching, watching, fasting, praying, and using all
the virtuous means in Nature, whereby we solely do attain the highest
Knowledge in Philosophy; it was resolv'd, by strong Intelligence--you
were the happy Sire of that bright Nymph, that had infascinated,
charm'd, and conquer'd the mighty Emperor _Iredonozor_, the Monarch
of the Moon.

_Doct_. I am undone with Joy! ruin'd with Transport. [_Aside_.
--Can it--can it, Sir,--be possible?
[_Stifling his Joy, which breaks out_.

_Char_. Receive the Blessing, Sir, with Moderation.

_Doct_. I do, Sir, I do.

_Char_. This very Night, by their great Art, they find,
He will descend, and shew himself in Glory.
An Honour, Sir, no Mortal has receiv'd
This sixty hundred years.

_Doct_. Hum--say you so, Sir; no Emperor ever descend this sixty hundred
years? [_Looks sad_.
--Was I deceiv'd last Night? [_Aside_.

_Char_. Oh! yes, Sir, often in Disguise, in several Shapes and Forms,
which did of old occasion so many fabulous Tales of all the Shapes of
_Jupiter_--but never in their proper Glory, Sir, as Emperors. This is an
Honour only design'd to you.

_Doct_. And will his Grace--be here in Person, Sir? [_Joyful_.

_Char_. In Person--and with him, a Man of mighty Quality, Sir, 'tis
thought, the Prince of _Thunderland_--but that's but whisper'd, Sir, in
the Cabal, and that he loves your Niece.

_Doct_. Miraculous! how this agrees with all I've seen and heard
--To Night, say you, Sir?

_Char_. So 'tis conjectur'd, Sir,--some of the Cabalists are of opinion,
that last Night there was some Sally from the Moon.

_Doct_. About what Hour, Sir?

_Char_. The Meridian of the Night, Sir, about the Hours of Twelve or
One; but who descended, or in what Shape, is yet uncertain.

_Doct_. This I believe, Sir.

_Char_. Why, Sir?

_Doct_. May I communicate a Secret of that nature?

_Char_. To any of the Cabalists, but none else.

_Doct_. Then know--last Night, my Daughter and my Niece were entertain'd
by those illustrious Heroes.

_Char_. Who, Sir, the Emperor, and Prince his Cousin?

_Doct_. Most certain, Sir. But whether they appear'd in solid Bodies, or
Fantomical, is yet a Question; for at my unlucky approach, they all
transform'd themselves into a Piece of Hangings.

_Char_. 'Tis frequent, Sir, their Shapes are numerous; and 'tis also in
their power to transform all they touch, by virtue of a certain Stone
they call the _Ebula_.

_Doct_. That wondrous _Ebula_, which _Gonzales_ had?

_Char_. The same, by virtue of which, all Weight was taken from him, and
then with ease the lofty Traveller flew from _Parnassus Hill_, and from
_Hymethus Mount_, and high _Gerania_, and _Acrocorinthus_, thence to
_Taygetus_, so to _Olympus_ Top, from whence he had but one step to the
Moon. Dizzy he grants he was.

_Doct_. No wonder, Sir, Oh happy great _Gonzales_!

_Char_. Your Virtue, Sir, will render you as happy--but I must haste--
this Night prepare your Daughter and your Niece, and let your House be
dress'd, perfum'd, and clean.

_Doct_. It shall be all perform'd, Sir.

_Char_. Be modest, Sir, and humble in your Elevation; for nothing shews
the Wit so poor, as Wonder, nor Birth so mean, as Pride.

_Doct_. I humbly thank your Admonition, Sir, and shall, in all I can,
struggle with human Frailty.

[_Brings_ Char. _to the Door bare. Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Scaramouch, _peeping at the other Door_.

_Scar_. So, so, all things go gloriously forward, but my own Amour, and
there is no convincing this obstinate Woman, that 'twas that Rogue
_Harlequin_ in Disguise, claim'd me; so that I cannot so much as come to
deliver the young Ladies their Letters from their Lovers. I must get in
with this damn'd Mistress of mine, or all our Plot will be spoil'd for
want of Intelligence.
--Hum, the Devil does not use to fail me at a dead Lift. I must deliver
these Letters, and I must have this Wench--though but to be reveng'd on
her for abusing me--Let me see--she is resolv'd for the Apothecary or
the Farmer. Well, say no more, honest _Scaramouch_; thou shalt find a
Friend at need of me--and if I do not fit you with a Spouse, say that a
Woman has out-witted me.


_The End of the Second Act_.


SCENE I. _The Street, with the Town-Gate, where an Officer stands with a
Staff like a_ London _Constable_.

_Enter_ Harlequin _riding in a Calash, comes through the Gate
towards the Stage, dress'd like a Gentleman sitting in it. The_
Officer _lays hold of his Horse_.

_Off_. Hold, hold, Sir, you I suppose know the Customs that are due to
this City of _Naples_, from all Persons that pass the Gates in Coach,
Chariot, Calash, or _Siege Volant_.

_Har_. I am not ignorant of the Custom, Sir, but what's that to me.

_Off_. Not to you, Sir! why, what Privilege have you above the rest?

_Har_. Privilege, for what, Sir?

_Off_. Why, for passing, Sir, with any of the before-named Carriages.

_Har_. Art mad?--Dost not see I am a plain Baker, and this my Cart, that
comes to carry Bread for the Vice-Roy's, and the City's Use?--ha.

_Off_. Are you mad, Sir, to think I cannot see a Gentleman Farmer and a
Calash, from a Baker and a Cart.

_Har_. Drunk by this Day--and so early too? Oh, you're a special
Officer? unhand my Horse, Sirrah, or you shall pay for all the Damage
you do me.

_Off_. Hey Day! here's a fine Cheat upon the Vice-Roy: Sir, pay me, or
I'll seize your Horse.
[Har. _strikes him. They scuffle a little_.
--Nay, and you be so brisk, I'll call the Clerk from his Office.
[_Calls_.]--Mr. Clerk, Mr. Clerk.

[_Goes to the Entrance to call the_ Clerk, _the mean time_ Har.
_whips a Frock over himself, and puts down the hind part of the
Chariot, and then 'tis a Cart.

Enter_ Clerk.

_Cler_. What's the matter here?

_Off_. Here's a Fellow, Sir, will persuade me, his Calash is a Cart, and
refuses the Customs for passing the Gate.

_Cler_. A Calash--Where?--I see only a Carter and his Cart.

[_The_ Officer _looks on him_.

_Off_. Ha, what a Devil, was I blind?

_Har_. Mr. Clerk, I am a Baker, that came with Bread to sell, and this
Fellow here has stopt me this Hour, and made me lose the sale of my
Ware; and being drunk, will out-face me I am a Farmer, and this Cart
a Calash.

_Cler_. He's in an Error, Friend, pass on.

_Har_. No, Sir, I'll have satisfaction first, or the Vice-Roy shall know
how he's serv'd by drunken Officers, that are a Nuisance to a Civil

_Cler_. What do you demand, Friend?

_Har_. Demand,--I demand a Crown, Sir.

_Off_. This is very hard--Mr. Clerk--If ever I saw in my Life, I thought
I saw a Gentleman and a Calash.

_Cler_. Come, come, gratify him, and see better hereafter.

_Off_. Here, Sir,--if I must, I must. [_Gives him a Crown_.

_Cler_. Pass on, Friend.
[_Ex_. Clerk.

[Har. _unseen, puts up the back of his Calash, and whips off
his Frock, and goes to drive on. The_ Officer _looks on him,
and stops him again_.

_Off_. Hum, I'll swear it is a Calash--Mr. Clerk--Mr. Clerk, come back,
come back.
[_Runs out to call him. He changes as before_.

_Enter_ Officer _and_ Clerk.

--Come, Sir, let your own Eyes convince you, Sir.

_Cler_. Convince me, of what, you Sot?

_Off_. This is a Gentleman, and that a--ha--
[_Looks about on_ Har.

_Cler_. Stark drunk! Sirrah, if you trouble me at every Mistake of yours
thus, you shall quit your Office.

_Off_. I beg your Pardon, Sir, I am a little in Drink I confess--a
little blind and mad--Sir,
--This must be the Devil, that's certain.

[_The_ Clerk _goes out_.

[Har. _puts up his Calash again, and pulls off his Frock
and drives out_.

--Well, now to my thinking, 'tis as plain a Calash again as ever I saw
in my Life, and yet I'm satisfy'd 'tis nothing but a Cart.


SCENE II. _Changes to the_ Doctor's _House. The Hall_.

_Enter_ Scaramouch _in a Chair, which is set down and open'd
on all sides, and on the top represents an Apothecary's Shop,
the Inside being painted with Shelves, and rows of Pots and
Bottles_; Scaramouch _sitting in it dress'd in Black, with a
short black Cloke, a Ruff, and little Hat_.

_Scar_. The Devil's in't, if either the Doctor, my Master, or
_Mopsophil_, know me in this Disguise--And thus I may not only gain my
Mistress, and out-wit _Harlequin_, but deliver the Ladies those Letters
from their Lovers, which I took out of his Pocket this Morning; and who
wou'd suspect an Apothecary for a Pimp?--Nor can the Jade _Mopsophil_,
in Honour, refuse a Person of my Gravity, and so well set up.--
[_Pointing to his Shop_.
--Hum, the Doctor here first, this is not so well, but I'm prepar'd
with Impudence for all Encounters.

_Enter the_ Doctor. Scaramouch _salutes him gravely_.

--Most Reverend Doctor _Baliardo_. [_Bows_.

_Doct_. Seignior-- [_Bows_.

_Scar_. I might through great Pusillanimity, blush to give you this
Anxiety, did not I opine you were as gracious as communicative and
eminent; and though you have no Cognisance of me, your humble
Servant,--yet I have of you,--you being so gravely fam'd for your
admirable Skill both in Galenical and Paracelsian _Phaenomena's_,
and other approv'd Felicities in Vulnerary Emeticks, and purgative

_Doct_. Seignior,--your Opinion honours me--rare Man this.

_Scar_. And though I am at present busied in writing--those few
Observations I have accumulated in my Peregrinations, Sir; yet the
Ambition I aspir'd to, of being an ocular and aurial Witness of your
Singularity, made me trespass on your sublimer Affairs.

_Doct_. Seignior--

_Scar_.--Besides a violent Inclination, Sir, of being initiated into the
Denomination of your learned Family, by the Conjugal Circumference of a
Matrimonial Tye, with that singularly accomplish'd Person--Madam, the
Governante of your Hostel--

_Doct_. Hum--A Sweet-heart for _Mopsophil_! [_Aside_.

_Scar_. And if I may obtain your Condescension to my Hymenaeal
Propositions, I doubt not my Operation with the Fair One.

_Doct_. Seignior, she's much honour'd in the Overture, and my Abilities
shall not be wanting to fix the Concord.--But have you been a Traveller,

_Scar_. Without Circumlocutions, Sir, I have seen all the Regions
beneath the Sun and Moon.

_Doct_. Moon, Sir! You never travell'd thither, Sir?

_Scar_. Not in _Propria Persona, Seignior_, but by Speculation, I have,
and made most considerable Remarks on that incomparable _Terra Firma_,
of which I have the compleatest Map in Christendom--and which _Gonzales_
himself omitted in his _Cosmographia_ of the _Lunar Mundus_.

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