A1r

The Emperor of the Moon:

A Farce.

As it is Acted by Their

Majesties Servants,
At the
Queens Theatre.

Written by Mrs. A. Behn

The second Edition.

London,
Printed by R. Holt, for Joseph Knight, and Francis
Saunders
, at the Blew-Anchor in the lower Walk of the
New Exchange, 16881688.

A1v A2r

To the
Lord Marquess
of
worcester
, &c.

My Lord,

It is a common Notion, that gathers as it goes, and is almost
become a vulgar Error, That Dedications in our
Age, are only the effects of Flattery, a form of Complement,
and no more; so that the Great; to whom they are
only due, decline those Noble Patronages that were so generally
allow’d the Ancient Poets; since the Awful Custom has been
so scandaliz’d by mistaken Addresses, and many a worthy Piece
is lost for want of some Honourable Protection, and sometimes
many indifferent ones traverse the World, with that
advantageous Passport only.

This humble Offering, which I presume to lay at your
Lordships Feet, is of that Critical Nature, that it does
not only require the Patronage of a great Title, but of a
great Man too, and there is often times a vast difference
between those two great Things; and amongst all the most
Elevated, there are but very few in whom an Illustrious
Birth and equal Parts compleat the Hero; but among those,
your Lorship bears the first Rank, from a just Claim, both
of the Glories of your Race and Vertues. Nor need we look
back into long past Ages, to bring down to ours the Magnanimous
deeds of your Ancestors: We need no more than to behold
(what we have so often done with wonder) those of the
Great Duke of Beauford, your Illustrious Father, whose every
single Action is a glorious and lasting President to all the
future Great ones; whose unshaken Loyalty, and all other eminent
Vertues, have rendred him to us, something more than
Man, and which alone, deserving a whole Volume, wou’d be
here but to lessen his Fame, to mix his Grandeurs with A2 those A2v
those of any other; and while I am addressing to the Son,
who is only worthy of that Noble Blood he boasts, and who gives
the World a Prospect of those coming Gallantries that will
Equal those of his Glorious Father; already, My Lord, all
you say and do is admir’d, and every touch of your Pen reverene’d;
the Excellency and Quickness of your Wit, is the
Subject that fills the World most agreeably. For my own part,
I never presume to contemplate your Lordship, but my Soul
bows with a perfect Veneration to your mighty Mind; and
while I have ador’d the delicate effects of your uncommon Wit,
I have wish’d for nothing more than an Opportunity of expressing
my infinite Sense of it; and this Ambition, my Lord, was
one Motive of my present Presumption, in the Dedicating this
Farce to your Lordship.

I am sensible, my Lord, how far the Word Farce might have
offended some, whose Titles of Honour, a Knack in dressing, or
his Art in writing a Billet Deux, had been his chiefest Talent,
and who, without considering the Intent, Charracter, or Nature
of the thing, wou’d have cry’d out upon the Language, and have
damn’d it (because the Persons in it did not all talk like Hero’s
) as too debas’d and vulgar to entertain a Man of Quality,
but I am secure from this Censure when your Lordship shall
be its Judge, whose refin’d Sence, and Delicacy of Judgment,
will thro’ all the humble Actions and trivialness of Business,
find Nature there, and that Diversion which was not meant for
the Numbers, who comprehend nothing beyond the Show and
Buffoonry.

A very barren and thin hint of the Plot. I had from the
Italian, and which, even as it was, was acted in France
eighty odd times without intermission. ’Tis now much alter’d,
and adapted to our English Theatre and Genius, who cannot
find an Entertainment at so cheap a Rate as the French
will, who are content with almost any. Incoherences, howsoever
shuffled together under the Name of a Farce; which I have
endeavour’d as much as the thing wou’d bear, to bring within
the compass of Possibility and Nature, that I might as little
impose upon the Audience as I cou’d; all the Words are wholly
new, without one from the Original. ’Twas calculated for His
late Majesty of Sacred Memory, that Great Patron of Noble Poetry, A3r
Poetry, and the Stage, for whom the Muses must for ever
mourn, and whose Loss, only the Blessing of so illustrious a
Successor can ever repair; and ’tis a great Pity to see that best
and most useful diversion of Mankind, whose Magnificence of
old was the most certain sign of a flourishing State, now quite
undone by the Misapprehension of the Ignorant, and Misrepresentings
of the Envious, which evidently shows the World is
improv’d in nothing but Pride, Ill Nature, and affected Nicety;
and the only diversion of the Town now, is high Dispute, and
publick Controversies in Taverns, Coffee-houses, &c. and those
things which ought to be the greatest Mysteries in Religion, and
so rarely the Business of Discourse, are turn’d into Ridicule, and
look but like so many fanatical Stratagems to ruine the Pulpit
as well as the Stage. The Defence of the first is left to the Reverend
Gown, but the departing Stage can be no otherwise restor’d,
but by some leading Spirits so Generous, so Publick, and
so Indefatigeable as that of your Lordship, whose Patronages
are sufficient to support it, whos Wit and Judgment to defend
it, and whose Goodness and Quality to justifie it; such Encouragement
wou’d inspire the Poets with new Arts to please, and
the Actors with Industry.’Twas this that occasion’d so many Admirable
Plays heretofore, as Shakespear’s, Fletcher’s, and
Johnson’s, and ’twas this alone that made the Town able to
keep so many Play-houses alive, who now cannot supply one.
However, my Lord, I, for my part, will no longer complain, if
this Piece find by favour in you Lordship’s Eges, and that it
be so happy to give your Lordship one ours Diverision, which
is the only Honour and Fame is wish’d to crown all the
Endeavours of,

My Lord,
Your Lordship’s
Most humble, and
Most Obedient
Servant

A. Behn

A3v

Prologue
Spoken by Mr. Jevern.

Mr. Jevern[Speaker label not present in original source]

Long, and at the vast Expence the industrious Stage

Has strove to please a dull ungrateful Age:

With Hero’s and with Gods we first began,

And thunder’d to you in Heroick Strain.

Some dying Love-sick Queen each Night, you injoy’d,

And with Magnificence, at last were cloy’d:

Our Drums and Trumpets frighted all the Women;

Our fighting scar’d the Beaux and Billet Deux Men.

So Spark in an Intrigue of Quality,

Grows weary of his splendid Drudgery;

Hates the Fatigue, and cries a Pox upon her,

What a damn’d bustle’s here with Love and Honour?

In humbler Comedy, we next appear,

No Fop or Cuckold, but slap-dash we had him here;

We show’d you all, but you malicious grown,

Friends Vices to expose, and hide your own;

Cry, Damn it ―― This is such or such a one.

Yet netled, Plague, What do’s the Scribler mean,

With his damn’d Characters, and Plot obscene?

No Woman without Vizard in the Nation,

Can see it twice, and keep her Reputation ―― that’s certain

Forgetting ――

That he himself, in every gross Lampoon,

Her lewder Secrets spreads about the Town;

Whilst their feign’d Niceness is but cautious Fear,

Their own Intrigues shou’d be unravel’d here.

Our next Recourse was dwindling down to Farce,

Then —’Zounds, what Stuff’s here? ’tis all o’er my ――

Well, Gentlemen, since none of these has sped,

’Gad, we have bought a share i’th speaking Head.

So there you’ll save a Sice,

You love Good Husbandry in all but Vice;

Whoring and Drinking, only bears a Price.

The A4r The Head rises upon a twisted Post, on a Bench, from under the
Stage. After Jevern speaks to its Mouth.

Mr. Jevern[Speaker label not present in original source]

Oh!――Oh!――Oh!

Stentor

Oh!――Oh!――Oh!

After this it sings Sawny, Laughs, crys, “God bless the King”
in order.

Stentor

Answers.

Speak lowder Jevern, if you’d have me repeat;

Plague of this Rogue, he will betray the Cheat.

Mr. Jevern[Speaker label not present in original source]

He speaks lowder, it answers indirectly.

――Hum――There ’tis again,

Pox of your Echo with a Northern Strain.

Well, ――This will be but a nine-days wonder too;

There’s nothing lasting but the Puppets Show.

What Ladies heart so hard, but it wou’d move,

To hear Philander and Irene’s Love?

Those Sisters too, the scandalous Wits do say,

Two nameless, keeping Beaux, have made so gay;

But those Amours are perfect Sympathy,

Their Gallants being as meer Machines as they.

Oh! how the City Wife, with her noon Ninny,

Is charm’d with, Come into my Coach――Mis Jinny, Mis Jinny.

But overturning――Frible crys ―― Adznigs,

The jogling Rogue has murther’d all his Kids.

The Men of War cry Pox on’t, this is dull,

We are for rough Sports,—――Dog Hector, and the Bull.

Thus each in his degree, Diversion finds,

Your sports are suited to your mighty Minds;

Whilst so much Jedgment in your Choice you show,

The Puppets have more Sence than some of you.

per- A4v

Persons Names.

Doctor Baliardo. Mr. Underhil.

Scaramouch, his Man. Mr. Lee.

Pedro, his Boy.

Don Cinthio, Young Mr. Powel

Don Charmante, Mr. Mumford.

both Nephews to the Vice-Roy and Lovers of Elaria and Bellemante.

Harlequin, Cinthio’s Man. Mr. Jevern.

Officer

and Clark

Elaria Daughter to the Doctor. Mrs. Cooke.

Bellemante, Niece to the Doctor. Mrs. Mumford.

Mopsophil Governante to the young Ladies. Mrs. Cory

The Persons in the Moon, are

Don Cinthio, Emperor;

Don Charmante, Prince of Thunderland.

Their attendants,

Persons that represent the Court Cards.

Kepler and

Galileus,

two Philosophers.

Twelve Persons representing the Figures of the twelve
Signs of the Zodiack
.

Negroes, and Persons that Dance.

Musick, Kettle-Drums, and Trumpets.

The Scene, Naples.
Farce. B1r 1

Farce.

Act I. Scene I.

A Chamber. Enter Elaria and Mopsophil.

I

A Curse upon that faithless Maid,

Who first her Sexes 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 Vertue 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 fixt to glittering Courts or shady Groves.

III

Then she that Constancy Profest,

Was but a well dissembler at the best;

And that imaginary sway

She feigned to give, in seeming to obey,

B Was B1v 2

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 sallyed 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.

Mopsophil [Speaker label not present in original source]

――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 deliver’d my Letter to his Nephew Don
Cinthio?

Scar.

Yes, Yes, what should I deliver else?

Ela.

Well—and how does he?

Fanning himself with his Cap.

Scar.

Lord, how shou’d he do? Why, what a Laborious thing
it is to be a Pimp?

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 thorough 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, called a
fair Lady; which outwardly applyed to his Bosom, will prove a
better cure than all your Weapon-Salve, or Sympathetick Powder,
meaning your Ladyship.

Ela.

Is Cinthio then not wounded?

Scar. B2r 3

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
nights 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 seein 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 Fathers consent too; Such a Plot, Madam.

Ela.

Ay that wou’d be worthy of thy Brain; prethee
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 Quick-sottish,
or so.――

Ela.

Or rather Mad.

Scar.

That were uncivil to be supposed by me; but Lunatick
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, Instituons,
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 Icaromenippus,
who flew up to the Moon, and thence to Heaven; an Heroick
business called, 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 B2 Moon; B2v 4
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 Mandivel;――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.

A Farce. ――

Scar.

Ay a Farce, which shall be called, ――the World in the Moon. Wherein you Father shall be so impos’d on, as shall
bring matter 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 Rosicrucian 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 Decoration,
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 Mopsa running.

Mopsa.

Run, Run, Scaramouch, my Masters Conjuring for you
like Mad below, he call up all his little Devils with horrid
Names, his Microscope, his Horoscope, his Telescope, and all this Scopes.

Scar.

Here, here, ――I had almost forgot the Letters; here’s
one for you, and one for Mrs. Bellemante.

runs out. Enter Bellemaante with a Book.

Bell.

Here, take my Prayer Book, Oh Marrois charé.

Embraces her.

Ela.

The Eyes are always laughing, Bellemante.

Bel.

And so would yours had they been so well imployed as
mine, this Morning. I have been at the Chapel, and seen so many
Beaus, such a Number of Plumees, I cou’d not tell which I
shou’d look on most; sometimes my heart was charm’d with the gay B3r 5
gay Blonding, then with the Melancholy Noire, annon the amiable
brunet, sometimes the bashful, then again the bold; the little
now, anon the lovely tall ! In fine, my Dear, I was embarress’d on
all sides, I did nothing but deal my heart tout au tour.

Ela.

Oh there was then no danger, Cousin.

Bel.

No, but abundance of Pleasure.

Ela.

Why, this is better than fighting for Charmante.

Bel.

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 BeausBeaus, the Beaus, Cousin that I saw at Church.

Ela.

Oh you had great Devotion to Heaven then!

Bel.

And so I had; for I did nothing but admire its handywork,
but I cou’d not have pray’d heartily if I had been dying; but a
deuce on’t, who shou’d come in and spoil all but my Lover Charmante,
so drest, 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.

Bellemante, [Speaker label not present in original source]

Chivalier, a Chevare Blond,

Plus de Mouche, Plus de Poudre

Pleus de Ribbons 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?

Bel.

When I am weary of Loving, Elaria.

Ela.

To keep up your Humor, here’s a Letter from your Charmante.

Bel. reads.

Bellemante, [Speaker label not present in original source]

“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 willsave the Life of
Your Charmante”

――Live then Charmante! Live as long as Love can last!

Ela.

Well, Cousin, Scaramouch tells me of rare designs 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
Humane thing is suffer’d to come near us, without our Governante
and Keeper, Mr. ScaramouthScaramouch.

Bel- B3v 6

Bel.

Who, if he had no more Honesty, and Conscience, than my
Unkle, wou’d let us pine for want of Lovers; but Heaven be
prais’d, the Generosity of our Cavaliers has open’d their obdurate
Hearts with a Golden key, that let’s ’em in at all opportunities.
Come, come, let’s in, and ansswer their Billet DeuxDoux.

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?

Sca.

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, of 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 Kings Closet; under favour, Sir,
that will be something uncivil.

Doct.

Uncivil, it were flat Treason if it shou’d be known, but
thus unseen, and as wise Politicians shou’d, I take Survey of all:
This is the States-man’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 with which 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.

Ex. Scar. Enter Scaramouch bare, bowing before Charmante, drest 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. B4r 7

Doct.

Most Reverend Bard, thrice welcome.

Salutes him low.

Char.

The Fame of your great Learning, Sir, and Vertue, 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 DÆmons of
the Air inform us all things, past, present, and to come.

Doct.

I must confess the Count of Gabalist, renders it plain, from
Writ Divine and Humane, there are such friendly and intelligent
DÆmons.

Char.

I hope you do not doubt that Doctrine, Sir, which holds
that the Four Elements are Peopl’d 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
Fayries. Those of the Air are Silfs. 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 Silfs and Nymphs,
and Woman by the Gnomes and Salamanders, and to have stock’d
the World with Demy-Gods, such as at the Day inhabit the Empire
of the Moon.

Doct.

Most admirable Philosophy and Reason. ――But do these
Silfs and Nymphs appear in shapes?

Char.

Of the most Beautiful of all the Sons and Daughters of
the Universe: Imagination it sels, 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 into that Society.――

Doct.

Ay, Sir, what Vertues 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 Vertues, 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 Rosicrucian order.

Char. B4v 8

Char.

Please you to make a Trial.

Doct.

As how, Sir, I beseech you?――

Char.

If you be throughly purg’d from Vice, the opticks of your
sight will be so illuminated, that glancing through this Telescope,
you may behold one of those lovely Creatures, that people the vast
Region of the Air.

Doct.

Sir, you oblige profoundly.

Char.

Kneel then, and try your strength of Vertue, Sir.――
Keep your Eye fixt 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, shows to the Audience. Goes to the end
of the Telescope.

Don Charmante, [Speaker label not present in original source]

――Can you discern, Sir?

Doct.

Methinks I see a kind of Glorious Cloud drawn up――
and now ――’tis gone again.

Char.

Saw you no figure?

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.

――Astonisht, Ravisht with delight, I see a Beauty
young and Angel like, leaving 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 wou’d
not make King Philip Jealous, and that famous Philosopher Merlin,
was begotten on a Vestal Nun, a certain Kings 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, Apulcim, Aquinas, Albertus Magnus,C nus, C1r 9
Socrates, and Virgil had their Zilphid, which foolish people
call’d their DÆmon 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 Chast.

Doct.

I think they are, and I’ll take care to keep ’em so; for I
confess, Sir, I wou’d fain have a Hero to me Grandson.

Char.

You never saw the Emperor of the Moon, Sir, the mighty
Iredonozar.

Doct.

Never, Sir; his Court I have, but ’twas cofusedly too.

Char.

Refine your Thoughts Sir, by a moments Prayer, and
try again.

He prays, Char. claps the Glass wth the Emperour 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 tho’ a
King, ’twixt Love and Honour.

Doct.

It were too much to know the Mortal, Sir?

Char.

’Tis yet unknown, Sir, to the Cabbalists, 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 Vertue, 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.

Sca.

So, so Don Charmante has plaid 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.

Sca.

I must confess it, Sir.

Doct.

Thou hast Vertue and Merit that deserves much.

Sca.

Oh Lord, Sir!

Doct. C1v 10

Doct.

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

Sca.

The sight of Man, Sir!

Doct.

Ay, and the very Thoughts of Man.

Sca.

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.

Sca.

Doubt me not, Sir, and I hope your Reverence will reward
my faithful Service with Mopsophil, your Daughters Governante,
who is Rich, and has long had my Affection, Sir.

Harlequ. Peeping, cries—Oh Traitor!

Doct.

Set not thy Heart on Transitories, mortal, there are 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 Farmers 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 have my self――No, —When did I ever
hear of a Hero that hang’d himself? 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 sliceing of the Weasand.
No, I’ll die a Death uncommon, and leave behind me an eternal
Fame. I have somewhere read in an Author, either Ancient 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 Shooes.

――And now, farewell the World, fond Love, and mortal Cares.

He falls to tickle himself, his Head, his Ears,
his Arm-pits, Hands, Sides, and Soals 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.

Sca.

Harlequin was left in the Garden, I’ll tell him the News of Mop- C2r 11
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?

Sca.

Honour, why I thought thoud’st been dead.

Har.

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

Sca.

I came to bemoan with thee, the common loss of our Mistriss.

Har.

I know it Sir, I know it, and that thou’rt 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.

Sca.

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

Har.

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

Sca.

Well, I’ll not stand with you for a Trifle――Being
come up, I’ll open the Casement, take you by the Heels, and fling
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 Achievement’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 Gypsie, tho’ I venture banging,

To be undeceiv’d, ’tis hardly worth the hanging.

Exeunt.

Scene IIIII.

The Chamber of Bellemante. Enter Scaramouch groping.

Sca.

So, I gavehave 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 Ladies 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 his my self, C2 till C2v 12
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.

Sca.

Ha, I hear a soft Tread, ――if it were Mopsophil’s, she
wou’d not come by Dark.

Har. advancing runs against a Table
and almost strikes himself backwards.

Har.

What was that? ――a Table,――There I may obscure
my self.――
――What a Devil, is it vanish’d?

Sca.

Devil, ――Vanish’d,――What can this mean? ’Tis
a Mans Voice.――If it shou’d 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 akimbo,
his Knees wide open, his Back-side almost
touching the Ground, his Mouth stretched wide, and
his Eyes staring. Harl. 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, least the Doctor should 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.

Harlequin groping about, finds the Table, on which there is a Carpet, and creeps under it, listning. Enter Bellemante, with a Candle in one Hand, and a Book in the
other.

Bel.

I am in a Belle Humor for Poetry to Night, ――I’ll make
some Boremes on Love.

She writes and Studies.

Bellemante, [Speaker label not present in original source]

“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.

Bellemante, [Speaker label not present in original source]

Ay, ay, so it shall go.――“Tell me, said he,――
Can you Resign?――Resign,”
ay, ――what shall Rhime to
“Resign? —Tell me, said he,――”

She lays down the Tables,
and walks about.
Harlequin peeps from under the Table, takes the Book,
writes in it, and lays it up before she can turn.
Reads. C3r 13 Reads.

Bellemante, [Speaker label not present in original source]

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.
Writes.
“—I blush’d, and veil’d my wishing Eyes.”

Lays down the Book, and walks as before.

“――Wishing Eyes――”

Har. Writes as before.
Har. writes.――

“――And answer’d only with my Sighs.”

She turns and take the Tablet.

Bell.

――Ha.――What is this? Witchcraft or some Divinity
of Love? some Cupid sure invisible.――
Once more I’ll try to Charm.――

Bell. writes.

“Cou’d I a better way my Love impart?”

Studies and walks.

“――Impart――”

He writes as before.
Har. writes.

“――And without speaking, tell him all my Heart.”

Bell.

――’Tis here again, but where’s the Hand that writ it? Looks about.
――The little Diety 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 Diety, 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, Mal-heureus! How was I mistaken in this Man?

Char. C3v 14

Char.

Mistaken! What, did you take me for, an easie Fool to
be impos’d upon? ――One that wou’d be cuckolded by every feather’d
Fool, that you shou’d call a ――Beau un Gallant Huome.
’sdeath! Who wou’d doat upon a fond She Fop? ――A
vain conceited Amorous Cocquet.

Goes out, she pulls him back. Enter Scaramouch, running.

Sca.

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 one the Stairs.

Doct.

Bellemante, Neece,――Bellemante.

Scar.

She’s coming, Sir.――Where, where shall I hide him?
――Oh, the Closet’s open?

Thrusts him into the Closet by force.

Doct.

Oh Neece! 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’s dying.
Here, take my Keys, 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 me.

Pulls out his Keys; one falls down. She looks on Scaramouch, and makes pitiful Signs,
and goes out.

Doctor Baliardo. [Speaker label not present in original source]

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

Ex. 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
Favourite for my Lips.

Har.

Ah, him wou’d I be glad to know.

And peeping.

Mop.

But of all my Lovers, I am for the Farmers 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, dwindl’d into a Hey-ho.

He rises from under the Table and falls at her Feet. Scaramouch enters. She runs off squeaking.

Sca.

Ha, my Rival and my Mistress!―― Is C4r 15
Is this done like a Man of Honour Mounsieur Harlequin, to take
Advantages to injure me?

Draws.

Har.

All advantages are lawful in Love and War.

Scar.

’Twas contrary to our League and Covenant; therefore
I defy thee as a Traitor.

Har.

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

Scar.

Then thou art a Poltron, 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 over at 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 Fleut Deux, and falls to Playing.
Har. throws down his, and falls a Dancing, after
the Dance, they shake Hands.

Har.

He is my Bone Ame—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.

Elaria within

Ela.

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?

Signs to Har. to go out.

Scar.

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 SreetStreet, for a
lucky moment to enter in.

Ela.

But what if any one by my Fathers Order, or he himself.
shou’d by some chance surprise 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, C4v 16

――Ha, ――shun my Arms, Elaria!

Ela.

Heavens! Why did you come so soon?

Cin.

Is it too soon, whenere ’tis sase, 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 Mule.

Ela.

Sure you mistake, methinks I herehear 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 here to hide him.

――Ha,-my Cousins 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 discover’d, 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 easie Cuckold shall be dubb’d a Knight.

Ela.

Oh Heavens! a mad Man, Sir.

Cin. D1r 17

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 Block-head, 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 though hid in yonder
conscious Closet?

Aside to her.

Scar.

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

Cin.

Upon a winged Horse, Iclyped 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――Barr 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 Doctors 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 D adven- D1v 18
adventure out.

Cinthio comes out.

――Ha,――Cinthio here!――

Cin.

Yes, Madam, to you shame――
Now your Perfidiousness is plain――False Woman,
’Tis well your Lover had the Dexterity of escaping, I’d spoil’d his
making Love else.

Gets from her, she holds him.

Ela.

Prethee 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――

Ex.

Whose Jealousie believes me given to Change,

Let thy own Torments be my just Revenge.

The End of the first Act.

Act II. Scene I.

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 Uncles 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 Sparks?

Ela.

Nay, Heaven knows.

Bell.

How! I hope not so, I left Charmante confin’d to my Closet,
when my Unkle 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?

Elaria [Speaker label not present in original source]

My Father was coming into the Chamber, and had like to have D2r 19
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 Fathers
Presence hinder’d, I believe there had been Murder commited; however,
they both escap’d unknown.

Scar.

Pshaw, is this all? Lovers Quarrels are soon adjusted; I’ll to
e’m, 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 are all prepar’d.――

Ex, Scaramouch.
Enter Mopsophil.

Mops.

Madam, your Cousin Florinda, with a Lady, is come to visit
you.

Bell.

I’m glad on’t, ’tis a good wench, and we’ll trust her with
our Mirth and Secret.

They go out.
Scene Changes to the Street. Enter Page with a Flambeaux, follow’d by Cinthio; passes over the Stage.
Scaramouch follows Cinthio in a Campain 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 hast.

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 escaped
me――I’ll be Reveng’d on thee――

Goes to beat him, he running away, runs against Harlequin,
who is entring with Charmante, and is like to
throw ’em both down.

Char.

Ha,―― What’s the matter here?――

Scar.

Seignor 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 Vertue is Proof against
the Vices of her Sex. D2 ――Say D2v 20
――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 Scowndrels.――
Come, Sir, ――satisfie 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 lets hasten
to your Misstresses.

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 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, and Ladies dress’d in Masking
Habits.

Elaria.

I Am extremely pleas’d with these Habits, Cousin.

Bell.

They are Ala Gothio and Uncommune.

Lady.

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 D3r 21
write those Boremes, than who I shall love next, if I break off with
Charmante.

Lady.

If he be a Man of Honour, Cousin, when a Maid protests
her Innocence――

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 obsstinate, 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 Vertue.

Bellemante, [Speaker label not present in original source]

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’s Goodness 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’s 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 cain, if you bring Matters so about, to get us
with my Uncle’s Consent.

Ela.

Our Fortunes depending solely on his Pleasure, which is 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 Cabbalist Charmante will compleat.

The Musick Plays.
Enter some Anticks and dance. They all sit still the while.

Ela.

Your dancers have perform’d well, but ’twere fit we knew D3v 22
knew whom we trusted with this Evenings 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 Fleut Deux and Harpsicals.
Shepherd and Shepherdess; which ended, they
all dance a Figure Dance.

Cin.

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

Doct. within.

Scaramouch, Scaramouch!

Scar. runs to the Door,
and holds it fast.

Scar.

Ha, ――the Devil in the likeness of my old Masters
Voice, for ’tis impossible it shou’d 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.

Scaramouch, Knave, where are you?

Scar.

’Tis he, ’tis he, follow me all――

He goes with all the
Company behind the Front Curtain.

Without Doctor.

I tell you, Sirrah, I heard the Noise of Fiddles.

Without Peter.

No, surely, Sir, ’twas a Mistake.

Knocking at the Door. Scaramouch having plac’d 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
Rogueing 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
Masters Treasure.

Scar. D4r 23

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 Curtains is drawn up, and discovers the
Hangings where all of them stand.

Scar.

Why look you, Sir, I have, to surprise 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 Vertuoso, or some of
the Cabbalists.

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 high, and nearer.

Peter and Scaramouch hold Candles near. He takes a
Perspective and looks through it; and coming nearer,
Harlequin, who is plac’d on a Tree in the Hangings,
hits him on the Head with a Truncheon. He starts,
and looks about. He 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 glimpsed a Profundity――

Aside. Looks again.

—I like the Figures well.

Scar. D4v 24

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 Neece.

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 fo, and all depart to your respective
Lodgings.

Cin.

And leave thee to bear the Brunt?

Sca.

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, Traytors
to my Glory and Repose. —Peter, hold fast the Door, let none
escape.

They all slip out.

Pet.

I’ll warrant you, Sir.

Doctor gropes about, then
stamps and calls.

Doct.

Lights there――Lights――I’m sure they could
not scape.

Pet.

Impossible, Sir.

Enter Scaramouch undress’d in his Shirt, with a Light. Starts.

Scar.

Bless me! ――What’s here?

Doct.

Ha,――Who art thou?

Amaz’d to see him enter so.

Sca.

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
wak’d from the sweetest Dream――

Doct.

You dream still, Sirrah, but I shall wake your Rogueship.ship. E1r 25
――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
Traytors 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 felltell you, Sir,
――Are you Humane?

Doct.

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

Scar.

Confess, Sir! What should I confess!―― I understand
not your Cabbalistical Language; but in mine, I confess that you
have 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 desparately in Love
with Mistress Elaria, and that his Brother, the Prince, Sir, of
Thunderland, was also in Love with Mistress 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
Humane 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 unseperable
Veneration for the Mathematicks, ’tis true, Sir.

Doct.

――That famous Rosicrucian, who yesterday visited me,
told me――the Emperor of the Moon was in Love with a fair
Mortal――This Dream is Inspiration in this Fellow――He
must have wonderous Vertue 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 Neece, and hear what knowledge
they may have of this.

Mop.

Will you so? I’ll secure you, the Frolick shall go
round.

E Doct. E1v 26

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――

Sca.

Good Sir, suspend your Judgment and your Anger then.

Doct.

I’ll do’t, go Back to Bed――

Ex. Doctor and Peter.

Scar.

No, Sir, ’tis Morning now――and I’m up for all day.
――This Madness is a pretty sort of a 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 Galenists.

Scene Draws off. 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 Moral――

Doct.

I am rapt!

Bell.

And take me with you to the World above.

Doct.

The Moon, the Moon she means, I am Transported, Overjoy’d,
and Ecstasy’d.

Leaping and jumping from her Hands,
she seems to wake.
Bell. E2r 27

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! least excess of Joy shou’d
make my Vertue less.

Stifling his Joy.

――There is a wonderous Mystery in this.
A mighty Blessing does attend your Fates.
Go in, and pray to the chast Powers above
To give you Vertue fit for such rewards.

They go in.

—How this agrees with what the learned Cabbalist inform’d me
of last Night! He said, that great Iredonozar, the Emperor of the
Moon, was inamour’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. The Garden.

Enter Scaramouch with a Ladder.

Scar.

Tho’ I am come off en Cavalier with my Master, I am not
with my Mistriss, whom I promised to console this
Night, and is but just I shou’d make good this Morning; ’twill be
rude to surprize her Sleeping, and more Gallant to wkae her with
a Serinade at her Window.

Sets the Ladder, to her Window, fetches his
Lute and goes up the Ladder.
E2 He E2v 28 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,

Tho’ Painting and Dressing, for a while, 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 lief 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 ere the Lark her early Note has sung,
Does doleful Love beneath my Casement thrum.—
――Ah, Senior Scaramouch, is it you?

Scar.

Who shou’d it be, that takes such pains to sue?

Mop.

Ah, Lover most true Blew!

Enter Harlequin in Womens Cloths.

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 Gypsie!――

Scar.

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

Har.

Ah Traytor!

Mop.

You’ll be sure to keep in 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. E3r 29

Har.

Ah, heardhard 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 Traytor.

Cryes out in a
Womans Voice.

Mop.

Ha,――Discover’d! ――A Woman in the Garden!

Har.

Come down, come down, thou false perfidious Wretch.

Scar.

Who, in the Devils Name, art thou?
And to whom dost thou speak?

Har.

To thee, thou false Deceiver, that 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 distracted?

Har.

E’re since I lov’d and trusted thee, false Varlot.
――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 termagent Infidel.

Enter the Doctor.

Doct.

What Noise, what Out-cry, what Tumult’s thus?

Har.

Ha, ――the Doctor!――What shall I do?――

Gets to the Door, Scar. pulls her in.

Doct.

A Woman!――some Bawd I am sure――Woman,
what’s your Business here? ――ha――

Har.

I came, an’t like your Seignorship, to Madam the Governantenante E3v 30
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 Courtsie.

Doct.

How now, what do you mock me?

Har.

Oh, Seignior!――

Gets nearer the door.

Mop.

Stay, stay, Mistriss, and what Service are you able to do
the Seigniors 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, Mistriss?

Har.

Why, Seignior, I can tye 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 Vallets de Chambre?

Doct.

Indeed, ’tis equally reasonable.――’Tis a Bawd.――

Aside.

――But have you never serv’d Ladies?

Har.

Oh yes! I serv’d a Parsons Wife.

Doct.

Is that a great Lady?

Har.

Ay, surely, Sir, what is she else? for she wore her Mantoes
of Brokad de or, Petticoats lac’d up to the Gathers, her Points, her
Patches, Paints and Perfumes, and sate 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 Aldermans Wife
in the City.

Mop.

Was that a Countess or a Dutchess?

Har.

Ay, certainly――for they have all the Money; and then
for Cloaths, Jewels, and rich Furniture, and eating, they outdo the
very Vice-Reigne her self.

Doct.

This is a very ignorant running Bawd,――therefore first
search her for Billets Deux, 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 Scar- E4r 31
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 Mistriss
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 Vertue, you are their Darling, Sir, from 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 vertuous means in Nature, whereby we solely to attain
the highest Knowledge in Philosophy; it was resolv’d, by
strong Intelligence――you were the happy Sire of that Bright
Nymph, that had effascinated, charm’d and conquer’d the mighty
Emperor Iredonozar――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 show 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 E4v 32
Forms, which did of old occasion so mny 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 Cabbal, and that he loves your
Neece.

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 Cabbalist――
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 Cabbalist, but none else.

Doct.

Then know――last night, my Daughter and my Neece
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 wonderous 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 Hymettus 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 vertue, Sir, will render you as happy―― but I
must hast――this Night prepare your Daughter and your Neece,
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 nothingthing F1r 33
shews the Wit so poor, as Wonder, nor Birth so mean; a
Pride.

Doct.

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

Brings Char. to the
Door bare. Ex.
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, that 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 Misstress 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
List. I must deliver these Letters, and I must have this Wench
――tho’ 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.

Act III. 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 on his Horse.

Officer.

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
Voglant
.

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?

F Har. F1v 34

Har.

Privilege, for what, Sir?

Off.

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

Har.

Ar’t 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 Cities 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 meantime 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 perswade 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 come 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 Nuisance to a
Civil Government.

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, gratifie him, and see better hereafter.

Off.

Here, Sir, —If I must, I must—

Gives him a Crown.
Cler. F2r 35

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 Sott?

Off.

That 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.

Exit.

Scene changes to the Doctors House.

The Hall. Enter Scaramouch in a Chair, which set down and open’d, on all sides,
and on the top represents an Apothecaries 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 Cloak, a Ruff, and
little Hat.

Scar.

The Devil’s in’t, if either the Doctor, my Master, or
Mopsophil, know me in the 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. F2 ――Hum, F2v 36

――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 I not opine you were as Gracious as Communitive
and Eminent; and tho’ you have no Cognisance of me,
your Humble Servant,――yet I have of you――you being
so greatly fam’d for your Admirable Skill, both in Galenical
and Paracelsian Phenomena’s, and other approv’d Felicities in Vulnerary,
Emeticks and purgative Experiences.

Doct.

Seignior,――your Opinion honors me――a rare Man
this.

Scar.

And though I am at present besied 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 Hymenæal
Propositions, I doubt not my Operation with the Fair One.

Doct.

Seignior, she is much honour’d in the Overture, and my
Abilities shall not be wanting to fix the Concord.
――But have you been a Traveller, Sir?

Scar.

Without Circumlocution, 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 Remarques 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
.

Doct.

A Map of the Lunar Mundus, Sir! may I crave the Honour
of seeing it?

Scar.

You shall, Sir, together with the Map of Terra Incognita,
a great Rarity, indeed, Sir.

Enter F3r 37 Enter Bellemante.

Doct.

Jewels, Sir, worth a Kings Ransome.

Bell.

Ha, ――What Figure of a Thing have we here――
Bantering my Credulous Uncle?――This must be some Scout
sent from our Forlorn Hope, to discover the Enemy, and bring in
fresh Intelligence.――Hum,――That Wink tipt me some Tidings,
and she deserves not a good Look, who understands not the
Language of the Eyes.――Sir, Dinner’s on the Table.

Doct.

Let it wait, I am imploy’d――

She creeps to the other
side of Scaramouch, who makes
Signs with his Hand to her.

Bell.

Ha,――’tis so, ――This fellow has some Novel for us,
some Letters or Instructions, but how to get it――

As Scar. talks to the Doctor, he takes the Letters
by degrees out of his Pocket, and unseen gives
’em to Bellemante behind him.

Doct.

But this Map, Seignior; I protest you have fill’d me with
Curiosity. Has it signify’d all things so exactly, say you?

Scar.

Omitted nothing, Seignior, no City, Town, Village or
Villa; no Castle, River, Bridge, Lake, Spring or Mineral.

Doct.

Are there any, Sir, of those admirable Mineral Waters there, so
frequent in our World?

Scar.

In abundance, Sir, the Famous Garamanteen, a young Italian,
Sir, lately come from thence, gives us an account of an excellent
Scaturigo, that has lately made an Ebulation there, in great Reputation
with the Lunary Ladies.

Doct.

Indeed, Sir! be pleas’d Seignior, to ’solve me some Queries
that may enode some apparences of the Virtue of the Water
you speak of.

Scar.

Pox upon him, what Questions he asks――but I must
on――Why, Sir, you must know,――the Tincture of this
Water upon Stagnation, Ceruberates, and the Crocus upon the
Stones Falveces; this he obsserves――to be, Sir, the Indication of
a Generous Water.

Doct.

Hum.――

Gravely Nodding.

Scar.

Now, Sir, be pleas’d to observe the three Regions, if they
be bright, without doubt Mars is powerful; if the middle Region
or Camera be pallid, Filia Solis is breeding.

Doct.

Hum.

Scar.

And then the third Region, if the Fæces be volatil, the
Birth will soon come in Balneo. This I observed also in the Laboratory
of that Ingenious Chymist Lysidono, and with much Pleasure
animadverted that Mineral of the same Zenith and Nader, of that F3v 38
that now so famous Water in England, near that famous Metropolis,
call’d Islington.

Doct.

Seignior――

Scar.

For, Sir, upon the Infusion, the Crows Head immediately
procures the Seal of Hermes, and had not Lac Virginis been too soon
suck’d up, I believe we might have seen the Consummation of Amalgena.

Bellemante having got her Letters, goes off. She
makes Signs to him to stay a little. He Nods.

Doct.

Most likely, Sir.

Scar.

But, Sir, this Garamanteen relates the strangest Operation
of a Mineral in the Lunar World, that ever I heard of.

Doct.

As how, I pray, Sir?

Scar.

Why, Sir, a Water impregnated to a Circulation with
Fema Materia; upon my Honour, Sir, the strongest I ever drank
of.

Doct.

How, Sir! did you drink of it?

Scar.

I only speak the words of Garamanteen, Sir.
――Pox on him, I shall be trapt.

Aside.

Doct.

Cry Mercy, Sir,――

Bows.

Scar.

The Lunary Physicians, Sir, call it Urinam Vulcani, it Calibrates
every ones Excrements more or less according to the Gradus
of the Natural Calor. ――To my Knowledge, Sir, a Smith
of a very fiery Constitution, is grown very Opulent by drinking
these Waters.

Doct.

How Sir, grown Rich by drinking the Waters, and to
your Knowledge?

Scar.

The Devil’s in my Tongue, to my Knowledge, Sir, for
what a man of Honour relates, I may falsely affirm.

Doct.

Excuse me, Seignior,――

Puts off his Hat
again gravely.

Scar.

For, Sir, conceive me how he grew Rich, since he drank
those Waters he never buys any Iron, but hammers it out of Stercus
Proprius
.

Enter Bellemante with a Billet.

Bell.

Sir, ’tis three a Clock and Dinner will be cold.――

Goes behind Scaramouch, and gives him
the Note, and goes out.

Doct.

I come Sweet-heart; but this is wonderful.

Scar.

Ay, Sir, and if at any time Nature be too infirm, and he
prove Costive, he has no more to do, but to apply a Loadstone
Ad Anum.

Doct.

Is’t possible?

Scar. F4r 39

Scar.

Most true, Sir, and that facilitates the Journey per Viscera
――But I detain you, Sir, another time――Sir,――
I will now only beg the Honor of a Word or two with the Governante,
before I fo.――

Doct.

Sir, she shall wait on you, and I shall be proud of the
Honour of your Conversation.――

They bow. Exit
Doctor.
Enter to him Harlequin, dress’d like a Farmer, as before.

Har.

Hum――What have we here, a Taylor, or a Tumbler?

Scar.

Ha—Who’s this?—Hum――What if it shou’d be
the Farmer that the Doctor has promis’d Mopsophil to? My heart
misgives me

They look at each other a while.

Who wou’d you speak with, Friend?

Har.

This is, perhap, my Rival, the Apothecary.――
Speak with, Sir, why, what’s that to you?

Scar.

Have you Affairs with Seignior Doctor, Sir?

Har.

It may be I have, it may be I have not. What then ,
Sir?――

While they seem in angry Dispute, Enter Mopsophil.

Mop.

Seignior Doctor tells me I have a Lover waits for me, sure it
must be the Farmer or the Apothecary. No matter which, so a Lover,
that welcomest man alive. I am resolv’d to take the first good
Offer, tho’ but in Revenge of Harlequin and Scaramouch, for putting
Tricks upon me.――
Ha,――Two of ’em!

Scar.

My Mistress here!

They both Bow and Advance,
both putting each other by.

Mop.

Hold Gentlemen,――do not worry me.
Which of you would speak with me?

Both.

I, I, I, Madam――

Mop.

Both of you?

Both.

No, Madam, I, I.

Mop.

If both Lovers, you are both welcome, but let’s have fair
Play, and take your turns to speak.

Har.

Ay, Seignior, ’tis most uncivil to interrupt me.

Scar.

And disingenious, Sir, to intrude on me.

Putting one another by.

Mop.

Let me then speak first.

Har.

I’m Dumb.

Scar.

I Acquiesce.

Mop. F4v 40

Mop.

I was inform’d there was a Person here had Propositions of
Marriage to make me.

Har.

That’s I, that’s I――

Shoves Scar. away.

Scar.

And I attend to that consequential Finis.

Shoves Har. away.

Har.

I know not what you mean by your Finis, Seignior, but
I am come to offer my self this Gentlewomans Servant, her Lover,
her Husband, her Dog in a Halter, or any thing.

Scar.

Him I pronounce a Poltroon, and an Ignominious Utensil,
that dares lay claim to the Renowned Lady of my Primum Monbile;
that is, my best Affections.――

In Rage.

Har.

I fear not your hard Words, Sir, but dare aloud pronounce,
if Donna Mopsophil like me, the Farmer, as well as I like her,
’tis a Match, and my Chariot is ready at the Gate to bear her off,
d’ye see.――

Mop.

Ah, how that Chariot pleads.—

Aside.

Scar.

And I pronounce, that being intoxicated with the sweet
Eyes of this refulgent Lady, I come to tender her my noblest Particulars,
Being already most advantageously set up with the circumstantial
Implements of my Occupation.

Points to the Shop.

Mop.

A City Apothecary, a most Gentile Calling――
Which shall I chuse?――Seignior Apothecary, I’ll not expostulate
the Circumstantial Reasons that have occasion’d me this Honour.
――

Scar.

Incomparable Lady, the Elegancy of your Repertees most
excellently denote the Profundity of your Capacity.

Har.

What the Devil’s all this? Good Mr. “Conjurer” stand by――
and don’t fright the Gentlewoman with your Elegant Profundities.

Puts him by.

Scar.

How a Conjurer! I will chastise thy vulgar Ignorance,
that yclips a Philosopher a Conjurer.

In Rage.

Har.

Losophers!――Prethee, if thou bee’st a Man, speak
like a Man――then

Scar.

Why, what do I speak like? What do I speak like?

Har.

What do you speak like――why you speak like a
Wheel-Barrow.

Scar.

How!――

Har.

And how!

They come up close together at half Sword.
Parry; stare on each other for a while,
then put up and bow to each other civilly.

Mop.

Thats well Gentlemen, let’s have all Peace, while I survey
you both, and see which likes me best.

She goes between ’em, and surveys ’em both, they making
ridiculous Bows on both sides, and Grimaces the while.
――ha, G1r 41

――ha,――now on my Conscience, my two foolish Lovers
――Harlequin and Scaramouch; how are my Hopes defeated?
――but Faith I’ll fit you both.

She views ’em both.

Scar.

So she’s considering still, I shall be the happy Dog.

Aside.

Har.

She’s taking aim, she cannot chuse but like me best.

Aside.

Scar.

Well, Madam, how does my Person propagate.

Bowing and Smiling.

Mop.

Faith, Seignior, now I look better on you, I do not like
your Phisnomy so well as your Intellects; you discovering some
Circumstantial Symptoms that ever denote a Villainous Inconstancy.

Scar.

Ah, you are pleas’d, Madam.――

Mop.

You are mistaken, Seignior, I am displeas’d at your Grey
Eyes, and Black Eye-brows and Beard, I never knew a Man with
those Signs, true to his Mistriss or his Friend. And I wou’d sooner
wed that Scoundrel Scaramouch, that very civil Pimp, that
meer pair of Chymical Bellows that blow the Doctors projecting
Fires, that Deputy Urinal Shaker, that very Guzman of Salamanca,
than a Fellow of your infallible Signum Mallis.

Har.

Ha, ha, ha,――you have your Answer, Seignior Friskin
――and may shut up your Shop and be gone.――――Ha,
ha, ha.――

Sca.

Hum, sure the Jade knows me――

Aside.

Mop.

And as for you, Seignior.

Har.

Ha, Madam――

Bowing and Smiling.

Mop.

Those Lanthorn Jaws of yours, with that most villainous
Sneer and Grin, and a certain fierce Air of your Eyes looks altogether
most Fanatically――which with your notorious Whey
Beard, are certain Signs of Knavery and Cowardice; therefore I’d
rather wed that Spider Harlequin, that Sceleton Buffoon, that Ape
of Man, that Jack of Lent, that very Top, that’s of no use, but
when ’tis whipt and lasht, that pitious Property I’d rather wed
than thee.

Har.

A very fair Declaration.

Mop.

You understand me――and so adieu sweet Glister-pipe,
and Seignior dirty Boots, Ha, ha, ha.――

Runs out.
They stand looking simply on each other,
without speaking a while.

Scar.

That I shou’d not know that Rogue Harlequin.

Aside.

Har.

That I shou’d take this Fool for a Physician.

Aside.

――How long have you commenc’d Apothecary, Seignior?

Scar.

Ever since you turn’d Farmer.――Are not you a damn’d G Rogue G1v 42
Rogue to put these Tricks upon me, and most dishonourably break
all Articles between us?

Har.

Are not you a damn’d Son of a ――something――
to break Articles with me?

Scar.

No more Words, Sir, no more words, I find it must come
to Action,――Draw――

Draws.

Har.

Draw, so I can draw, Sir!――

Draws.
They make a ridiculous cowardly Fight. Enter the Doctor, which they
seeing, come on with more Courage. He runs between,’em and with his
Cane bears the Swords down.

Doct.

Hold――hold――What mean you, Gentlemen?

Scar.

Let me go, Sir, I am provok’d beyond measure, Sir.

Doct.

You must excuse me, Seignior――

Parlies with Harlequin.

Scar.

I dare not discover the fool for his Masters Sake, and it
may spoil our intrigue anon; besides, he’ll then discover me, and I
shall be discarded for bantering the Doctor.

Aside.

――A Man of Honour to be so basely affronted here.――

The Doctor comes to appease Scaramouch.

Har.

Shou’d I discover this Rascal, he wou’d tell the Old Gentleman
I was the same that attempted his House to day in Womens
Cloths, and I shou’d be kick’d and beaten most unsatiably.

Scar.

What, Seignior, for a man of Parts to be impos’d upon,
――and whipt through the Lungs here――like a Mountebanks
Zany for sham Cures――Mr. Doctor, I must tell you ’tis
not Civil.

Doct.

I am extreamly sorry for it, Sir,――and you shall see
how I will have this fellow handled for the Affront to a Person of
your Gravity, and in my House――Here Pedro,――

Enter Pedro.

――Take this intruder, or bring some of your Fellows hither,
and toss him in a Blanket――

Ex. Pedro Har. going
to creep away, Scar. holds him.

Har.

Hark ye, bring me off, or I’ll discover all your Intrigue.

Aside to him.

Scar.

Let me alone――

Doct.

I’ll warrant you some Rogue that has some Plot on my
Neece and Daughter.――

Scar.

No, no, Sir, he comes to impose the grossest Lye upon you
that ever was heard of.

Enter G2r 43 Enter Pedro with others, with a Blanket. They put Har. into it, and
toss him.

Har.

Hold, hold, ――I’ll confess all, rather than indure it.

Doct.

Hold,――What will you confess, Sir?

He comes out. Makes sick Faces.

Scar.

—That he’s the greatest Imposter in Nature.
Wou’d you think it, Sir? he pretends to be no less than an Ambassador
from the Emperor of the Moon, Sir――

Doct.

Ha,—Ambassador from the Emperor of the Moon――

Pulls off his hat.

Scar.

Ay, Sir, thereupon I laugh’d, thereupon he grew angry,
――I laugh’d at his Resentment, and thereupon we drew――
and this was the high Quarrel, Sir.

Doct.

Hum,—Ambassador from the Moon.

Pauses.

Scar.

I have brought you off, manage him as well as you can.

Har.

Brought me off, yes, out of the Frying-Pan into the Fire.
Why, how the Devil shall I act an Ambassador?

Aside.

Doct.

It must be so, for how shou’d eithe rofeither of these know I expected
that Honour?

He addresses him with profound
Civility to Har.

Sir, if the Figure you make, approaching so near ours of this World,
have made us commit any indecent Indignity to your high Character,
you ought to pardon the Frailty of our Mortal Education and
Ignorance, having never before been blest with the Descention of
any from your World.――

Har.

What the Devil shall I say now?

Aside.

――I confess, I am as you see by my Garb, Sir, a little Incognito,
because the Publick Messsage I bring, is very private――
which is, that the mighty Iredonozar, Emperor of the Moon――
with his most worthy Brother, the Prince of Thunderland, intend
to Sup with you to Night――Therefore be sure you get good
Wine――Tho’ by the way let me tell you, ’tis for the Sake of
your Fair Daughter.

Scar.

I’ll leave the Rogue to his own Management.――
I presume by your whispering, Sir, you wou’d be private and humbly
begging Pardon, take my Leave.

Ex. Scaramouch.

Har.

You have it Friend. Does your Neece and Daughter
Drink, Sir?

Doct.

Drink, Sir?

Har.

Ay, Sir, Drink hard.

Doct.

Do the Women of your World drink hard, Sir?

Har.

According to their Quality, Sir, more or less; the greater
the Quality, the more Profuse the Quantity.

G2 Doct. G2v 44

Doct.

Why that’s just as ’tis here; but your Men of Quality,
your States-men, Sir, I presume they are Sober, Learned and
Wise.

Har.

Faith, no, Sir, but they are, for the most part, what’s as
good, very Proud, and promising, Sir, most liberal of their Word
to every fauning Suiter to purchase the state of long Attendance,
and cringing as they pass; but the Devil of a Performance, without
you get the Knack of bribing in the right Place and Time; but
yet they all defy it, Sir.――

Doct.

Just, just as ’tis here.
――But pray Sir, How do these Great Men live with their
Wives?

Har.

Most Nobly, Sir, My Lord keeps his Coach, my Lady, hers;
my Lord his Bed, my Lady hers; and very rarely see one another,
unless they chance to meet in a Visit, in the Park, the Mall, the Tour,
or at the Basset-Table, where they civilly Salute and part, he to his
Mistriss she to play.

Doct.

Good lack! just as ’tis here.

Har.

――Where, if she chance to lose her Money, rather
than give out, she borrows of the next Amorous Coxcomb, who,
from that Minute, hopes, and is sure to be paid again one way or
other, the next kind Opportunity.

Doct.

――Just as ’tis here.

Har.

As for the young Fellows that have Money, they have no
Mercy upon their own Persons, but wearing Nature off as fast as
they can, Swear, and Whore, and Drink, and Borrow as long as any
Rooking Citizen will lend, till having dearly purchased the Heroick
Title of a Bully or a Sharper, they live pity’d of their Friends,
and despis’d by their Whores, and depart this Transitory World,
diverse and sundry ways.

Doct.

Just, just, as ’tis here.

Har.

As for the Citizen, Sir, the Courtier lies with his Wife,
he, in revenge, Cheats him of his Estate, till Rich enough to marry
his Daughter to a Courtier, again give him all――unless his
Wives Over-Gallantry break him; and thus the World runs
round.――

Doct.

The very same ’tis here.――Is there no preferment,
Sir, for Men of Parts and Merit?

Har.

Parts and Merit! What’s that? a Livery, or the handsome
tying a Crevat, for the great Men prefer none but their Footmen
and Vallets.

Doct.

By my Troth, just as ’tis here.
――Sir, I find you are a Person of most profound Intelligence
――under Favour, Sir, —Are you a Native of the Moon or this
World?――

Har. G3r 45

Har.

The Devils in him for hard Questions.
――I am a Neapolitan, Sir.

Doct.

Sir, I Honour you; good luck, my Countryman, How got
you to the Region of the Moon, Sir?

Har.

――A plaguy inquisitive old Fool――
――Why, Sir,――Pox on’t, what shall I say?――I being
――one day in a musing Melancholy, walking beby the Seaside
――there arose, Sir, a great Mist, by the Suns exhaling of
the Vapours of the Earth, Sir.

Doct.

Right, Sir.

Har.

In this Fog or Mist, Sir, I was exhaled.

Doct.

The Exhalations of the Sun, draw you to the Moon, Sir?

Har.

I am condemn’d to the Blanket again.――I say, Sir, I
was exhal’d up, but in my way――being too heavy, was dropt
into the Sea.

Doct.

How, Sir, into the Sea?

Har.

The Sea, Sir, where the Emperors Fisher-man casting his
Nets, drew me up, and took me for a strange and monstrous Fish,
Sir,――and as such, presented me to his Mightiness,――who
going to have me Spitchcock’d for his own eating.――

Doct.

How, Sir, eating.――

Har.

What did me I, Sir, (Life being sweet) but fell on my
Knees, and besought his Gloriousness not to eat me, for I was no
Fish but a Man; he ask’d me of what Country, I told him of Naples;
whereupon the Emperor overjoy’d, ask’d me if I knew that
most Reverend and most Learned Doctor Baliardo, and his fair
Daughter. I told him I did: whereupon he made me his Bed-fellow,
and the Confident to his Amour to Seigniora Elaria.

Doct.

Bless me, Sir! how came the Emperor to know my Daughter?

Har.

――There he is again with his damn’d hard Questions.

――Know her, Sir, ――Why――you were walking abroad
one day.――

Doct.

My Daughter never goes abroad, Sir, farther than our
Garden.――

Har.

Ay, there it was indeed, Sir,――and as his Highness was
taking a Survey of this lower World――through a long Perspective,
Sir, ――he say you and your Daughter and Neece, and
from that very moment, fell most desperately in Love.――But
hark――the sound of Timbrils, Kettle-Drums and Trumpets.
――The Emperor, Sir, is on his Way,――prepare for his Reception.

A strange Noise is heard of Brass Kettles, and
Pans, and Bells, and many tinkling things.

Doct.

I’m in a Rapture――How shall I pay my Gratitude for G3v 46
for this great Negotiation!――but as I may, I humbly offer,
Sir.――

Presents him with a Rich
Ring and a Purse of Gold.

Har.

Sir, as an Honour done the Emperor, I take your Ring
and Gold. I must go meet his Highness.――

Takes Leave.
Enter to him Scaramouch, as himself.

Scar.

Oh, Sir! we are astonish’d with the dreadful sound of the
sweetest Musick that ever Mortal heard, but know not whence it
comes. Have you not heard it, Sir?

Doct.

Heard it, yes, Fool,――’Tis the Musick of the Spheres,
the Emperor of the Moon World is descending.

Scar.

How, Sir, no marvel then, that looking towards the South,
I saw such splendid Glories in the Air.

Doct.

Ha, ――saw’st thou ought descending in the Air?

Scar.

Oh, yes, Sir, Wonders! hast to the old Gallery, whence,
with the help of your Telescope, you may discover all.――

Doct.

I wou’d not lose a moment for the lower Universe.

Enter Elaria, Bellemante, Mopsophil, dress’d in rich Antick Habits.

Ela.

Sir, we are dress’d as you commanded us, What is your
farther Pleasure?

Doct.

――It well becomes the Honour you’re design’d for,
this Night to wed two Princes――――come with me and know your
happy Fates.

Ex. Doctor and Scar.

Ela.

Bless me! My Father, in all the rest of his Discourse, shows
so much Sense and Reason, I cannot think him mad, but feigns all
this to try us.

Bell.

Not Mad! Marry Heaven forbid, thou are always creating
Fears to startle one; why if he be not mad his want of Sleep
this eight and forty hours, the Noise of strange unheard of Instruments,
with the Fantastick Splendor of the unusual Sight, will so
turn his Brain and dazle him, that in Grace of Goodness, he may be
Mad: If he be not;――come let’s after him to the Gallery,
for I long to see in what showing Equipage our Princely Lovers
will address to us.

Exeunt.
scene G4r 47

Scene The Last.

The Gallery richly adorn’d with Scenes and Lights. Enter Doctor, Elaria, Bellemante, and Mopsophil. Soft Musick is
heard.

Bell.

Ha ――Heavens! what’s here?――what Palace
is this? ――No part of our House, I’m
sure――

Ela.

’Tis rather the Apartment of some Monarch.

Doct.

I’m all amazement too, but must not show my Ignorance.
――Yes, Elaria, this is prepar’d to entertain two Princes.

Bell.

Are you sure on’t, Sir? are we not, think you, in that World
above, I often heard you speak of? in the Moon, Sir?

Doct.

How shall I resolve her?――For ought I know, we are.

Aside.

Ela.

Sure, Sir, ’tis some Inchantment.

Doct.

Let not thy Female Ignorance prophane the highest Mysteries
of Natural Philosophy: To fools it seems Inchantment――
but I’ve a Sense can reach it,――sit and expect the Event.――
Hark――I am amaz’d, but must conceal my Wonder――that
Joy of Fools――and appear wise in Gravity.

Bell.

whence comes this charming Sound, Sir?

Doct.

From the Spheres――it is familiar to me.

The Scene in the Front draws off, and shews the Hill of Parnassus; a
noble large Walk of Trees leading to it, with eight or ten Negroes
upon Pedestals, rang’d on each side of the Walks. Next Kepler and
Galileus descend on each side, opposite to each other, in Chariots, with
Perspectives in their Hands, as viewing the Machine of the Zodiack.
Soft Musick plays still.

Doct.

Methought I saw the Figure of two Men descend from
yonder Cloud, on yonder Hill.

Ela.

I thought so too, but they are disappear’d, and the wing’d
Chariot’s fled.

Enter G4v 48 Enter Kepler and Galileus.

Bell.

See, Sir, they approach.――

The Doctor rises,
and Bows.

Kep.

Most Reverend Sir, we from the upper World thus low
salute you.――Kepler and Galileus we are call’d, send as Interpreters
to Great Iredonozar, the Emperor of the Moon, who is descending.

Doct.

Most Reverend Bards――profound Philosphers
――thus low I bow to pay my humble Gratitude.

Kep.

The Emperor, Sir, Salutes you, and your fair Daughter.

Gal.

And, Sir, the Prince of Thunderland salutes you and your
fair Neece.

Doct.

Thus low I fall to thank their Royal Goodness.

Kneels. They take him up.

Bell.

Came you, most Reverend Bards, from the Moon World?

Kep.

Most Lovely Maid, we did.

Doct.

May I presume to ask the manner how?

Kep.

By Cloud, Sir, through the Regions of the Air, down to
the fam’d Parnassus; thence by Water, along the River Helicon,
the rest by Post, upon two wing’d Eagles.

Doct.

Sir, are there store of our World inhabiting the Moon?

Kep.

Oh, of all Nations, Sir, that lie beneath it in the Emperors
Train! Sir, you will behold abundance; look up and see the Orbal
World descending; observe the Zodiak, Sir, with her twelve
Signs.

Next the Zodiack descends, a Symphony playing all
the while; when it is landed, it delivers the
twelve Signs: Then the Song, the Persons of the
Zodiack being the Singers. After which, the Negroes
Dance and mingle in the Chorus.

A Song for the Zodiack

Let murmuring Lovers no longer Repine,

But their Hearts and their Voices advance;

Let the Nymphs and the Swains in the kind Chorus joyn,

And the Satyrs and Fauns in a Dance.

Let nature put on her Beauty of May,

And the Fields and the Meadows adorn;

Let the Woods and the Mountains resound with the Joy,

And the Echoes their Triumph return.

Chorus. H1r 49

Chorus.

For since Love wore his Darts,

And Virgins grew Coy;

Since these wounded Hearts,

And those cou’d destroy,

There ne’er was more Cause for your Triumphs and Joy.

Hark, hark, the Musick of the Spheres,

Some Wonder approaching declares;

Such, such, as has not blest your Eyes and Ears

This, thousand, thousand, thousand years.

See, see what the Force of Love can make,

Who rules in Heaven, in Earth and Sea;

Behold how he commands the Zodiack,

While the fixt Signs unhinging all obey.

Not one of which, but represents

The Attributes of Love,

Who governs all the Elements

In Harmony above.

Chorus.

For since Love wore his Darts,

And Virgins grew Coy;

Since these wounded Hearts,

And those cou’d destroy,

There ne’er was more Cause for your Triumphs and Joy.

The wanton Aries first descends,

To show the Vigor and the Play,

Beginning Love, beginning Love attends,

When the young Passion is all over Joy,

He bleats his soft Pain to the fair curled Throng,

And he leaps, and he bounds, and Loves all the day long.

At once Loves Courage and his Slavery

In Taurus is express’d,

Tho’ oe’r the Plains he Conqueror be,

The Generous Beast

Does to the Yoke submit his Noble Breast,

While Gemini smiling and twining of Arms,

Shows Loves soft Indearments and Charms.

H And H1v 50

And Cancer’s slow Motion the degrees do express,

Respectful Love arrives to happiness.

Leo his strength and Majesty,

Virgo his blushing Modesty,

And Libra all his Equity.

His Subtilty does Scorpio show,

And Sagittarus all his loose desire,

By Capricorn his forward Humour know,

And Aqua. Lovers Tears that raise his Fire,

While Pisces, which intwin’d do move,

Show the soft Play, and wanton Arts of Love.

Chorus.

For since Love wore his Darts,

And Virgins grew Coy;

Since these wounded Hearts,

And those cou’d destroy,

There ne’er was more Cause for your Triumphs and Joy.

Kepler [Speaker label not present in original source]

――See how she turns, and sends her Signs to Earth.――
Behold the Ram――Aries――see Taurus next descends; then
Gemini――see how the Boys embrace.――Next Cancer,
then Leo, then the Virgin; next to her Libra―― Scorpio, Sagittary,
Capricorn, Aquarius,――Pisces. This eight thousand
years
no Emperor has descended, but Incognito, but when he does
to make his Journey more Magnificent, the Zodiack, Sir, attends
him.

Doct.

’Tis all amazing, Sir.

Kep.

Now, Sir, behold, the Globick World descends two thousand
Leagues
below its wonted Station, to show Obedience to its
proper Monarch.

After which, the Globe of the Moon appears, first, like
a new Moon; as it moves forward it increases, till it
comes to the Full. When it is descended, it opens,
and shews the Emperor and the Prince. They come
forth with all their Train, the Flutes playing a Symphony
before him, which prepares the Song. Which ended, the Dancers mingle as before.
a H2r 51

A Song.

All Joy to Mortals, Joy and Mirth

Eternal IO’s sing;

The Gods of Love descend to Earth,

Their Darts have lost the Sting.

The Youth shall now complain no more

On Silvia’s needless Scorn,

But she shall love, if he adore,

And melt when he shall burn.

The Nymph no longer shall be shy,

But leave the jilting Road;

And Daphne now no more shall fly

The wounded panting God;

But all shall be serene and fair,

No sad Complaints of Love

Shall fill the Gentle whispering Air,

No echoing Sighs the Grove.

Beneath the Shades young Strephon lies,

Of all his Wish possess’d;

Gazing on Silvia’s charming Eyes,

Whose Soul is there confess’d.

All soft and sweet the Maid appears,

With Looks that know no Art,

And though she yields with trembling Fears,

She yields with all her Heart.

Kepler [Speaker label not present in original source]

――See, Sir, the Cloud of Foreigners appears, French, English,
Spaniards, Danes, Turks, Russians, Indians, and the nearer
Climes of Christendom; and lastly, Sir, behold the mighty Emperor.
――

A Chariot appears, made like a Half Moon, in which is
Cinthio for the Emperor, richly dress’d and Charmante
for the Prince, rich, with a good many Heroes
attending. Cinthio’s Train born by four Cupids. The
Song continues while they descend and land. They
address themselves to Elaria and Bellemante.――
Doctor falls on his Face, the rest bow very low as they
pass. They make signs to Kepler.

Kep.

The Emperor wou’d have you rise, Sir, he will expect no
Ceremony from the Father of his Mistriss.

Takes him up.
H2 Doct. H2v 52

Doct.

I cannot, Sir, behold his Mightiness――the Splendor
of his Majesty confounds me――

Kep.

You must be moderate, Sir, it is expected.

The two Lovers make all the Signs of Love in dumb
show to the Ladies, while the soft Musick plays a
gain from the End of the Song.

Doct.

Shall I not have the Joy to hear their Heavenly Voices,
Sir?

Kep.

They never speak to any Subject, Sir, when they appear
in Royalty, but by Interpreters, and that by way of Stentraphon,
in manner of the Delphick Oracles.

Doct.

Any way, so I may hear the Sence of what they wou’d
say.

Kep.

No doubt you will――But see the Emperor commands
by signs his Foreigners to dance――

Soft Musick changes. A very Antick Dance. The Dance ended, the Front
Scene draws off, and shows a Temple, with an Altar,
one speaking through a Stentraphon from behind it.
Soft Musick plays the while.

Kep.

Most Learned Sir, the Emperor now is going to declare
himself, according to his Custom, to his Subjects. Listen.――

Sten.

Most Reverend Sir, whose Vertue did incite us,

Whose Daughters Charms did more invite us;

We come to grace her with that Honour,

That never Mortal yet had done her,

Once only Jove was known in Story,

To visit Semele in Glory.

But fatal ’twas, he so enjoy’d her,

Her own ambitious Flame destroy’d her.

His Charms too fierce for Flesh and Blood,

She dy’d embracing of her God.

We gentler marks of Passion give,

The Maid we love, shall love and live;

Whom visibly we thus will grace,

Above the rest of humane Race.

Say, is’t your Will that we shou’d Wed her,

And nightly in Disguises Bed her.

Doct.

The Glory is too great for Mortal Wife.

Kneels with Transport.

Sten.

What then remains, but that we consummate

This happy Marriage in our splendid State?

Doct.

Thus low I kneel, in thanks for this great Blessing.

Cinthio H3r 53 Cinthio takes Elaria by the Hand; Charmante Bellemante;
two of the Singers in white being Priests, they lead
’em to the Altar, the whole Company dividing on either
side. Where, while a Hymeneal Song is sung, the Priest
joins their Hands. The Song ended, and they Marry’d,
they come forth; but before they come forward,――
two Chariots descend, one on one side above, and the other
on the other side; in which is Harlequin dress’d like a
Mock Hero, with others, and Scaramouch in the other,
dress’d so in Helmets.

Scar.

Stay mighty Emperor, and vouchsafe to be the Umpire
of our Difference.

Cinthio makes signs to Kepler.

Kep.

What are you?

Scar.

Two neighbouring Princes to you vast Dominion.

Har.

Knights of the Sun, our Honourable Titles.
And fight for that fair Mortal, Mopsophil.

Mop.

Bless us!――my two precious Lovers, I’ll warrant;
well, I had better take up with one of them, than lie alone to
Night.

Scar.

Long as two Rivals have we Lov’d and Hop’d,
Both equally endeavour’d, and both fail’d;
At last by joint Consent, we both agreed
To try our Titles by the Dint of Lance,
And chose your Mightiness for Arbitrator.

Kep.

The Emperor gives Consent.――

They both, all arm’d with gilded Lances and Shields of Black,
with Golden Suns painted. The Musick plays a fighting
Tune. They fight at Barriers, to the Tune.――Harlequin
is often Foil’d, but advances still; at last Scaramouch
throws him, and is Conqueror; all give Judgment for him.

Kep.

The Emperor pronounces you are Victor.――

To Scar.

Doct.

Receive your Mistress, Sir, as the Reward of your undoubted
Valour――

Presents Mopsophil.

Scar.

Your humble Servant, Sir, and Scaramouch, returns you
humble thanks.――

Puts off his Helmet.

Doct.

Ha,――Scaramouch――

Bawls out, and falls in
a Chair. They all go to him.

My Heart misgives me――Oh, I am undone and cheated every
way.――

Bawling out.

Kep.

Be patient, Sir, and call up all your Vertue,
You’re only cur’d, Sir, of a Disease
That long has raign’d over your Nobler Faculties.
Sir, I am your Physician, Friend and Counsellor;
It was not in the Power Herbs or Minerals, Of H3v 54
Of Reason, common Sense, and right Religion,
To draw you from an Error that unmann’d you.

Doct.

I will be Patient, Gentlemen, and hear you.
――Are you not Ferdinand?

Kep.

I am, ――and these are Gentlemen of Quality,
That long have lov’d your Daughter and your Neece.
Don Cinthio this, and this, Don Charmante,
The Vice-Roys Nephews, both.――
Who found, as men――’twas impossible to enjoy ’em,
And therefore try’d this Stratagem.――

Cin.

Sir, I beseech you, mitigate your Grief,
Altho’ indeed we are but mortal men,
Yet we shall Love you,――Serve you, and obey you――

Doct.

Are not you then the Emperor of the Moon?
And you not the Prince of Thunderland?

Cin.

There’s no such Person, Sir.
These Stories are the Fantoms of mad Brains,
To puzzle Fools withal――the Wise laugh at ’em,――
――Come Sir, you shall no longer be impos’d upon;

Doct.

No Emperor of the Moon,――and no Moon World!

Char.

Ridiculous Inventions.
If we’d not lov’d you, you’d been still impos’d on;
We had brought a Scandal on your Learned Name,
And all succeeding Ages had despis’d it.

He leaps up.

Doct.

Burn all my Books, and let my Study Blaze,
Burn all to Ashes, and be sure the Wind
Scatter the vile Contageous Monstrous Lyes.
――Most Noble Youths――you’ve honour’d me with your
Alliance, and you, and all your Friends, Assistances in this Glorious
Miracle, I invite to Night to revel with me.――Come all and
see my happy Recantation of all the Follies Fables have inspir’d till
now. Be pleasant to repeat your Story, to tell me by what kind
degrees you Cozen’d me――
I see there’s nothing in Philosophy――

Gravely to
himself.

Of all that writ, he was the wisest Bard, who spoke this mighty
Truth.――
“He that knew all that ever Learning writ,”“Knew only this――that he knew nothing yet.”

epi- H4r

Epilogue.

To be spoken by Mrs. Cook.

Mrs. Cooke[Speaker label not present in original source]

With our old Plays, as with dull Wife it fares,

To whom you have been marry’d tedious years.

You Cry――She’s wonderous good, it is confess’d,

But still ’tis Chapon Boüillé at the best;

That consstant Dish can never make a Feast:

Yet the pall’d Pleasure you must still pursue,

You give so small encouragement for new;

And who wou’d drudge for such a wretched Age,

Who want the Bravery, to support one Stage?

The wiser Wits have now new Measures set,

And taken up new Trades, that they may Eat,

No more your nice fantastick pleasures serve,

Your Pimps you pay, but let your Poets starve.

They long in vain for better Usage hop’d,

Till quite undone and tir’d, they dropt and dropt;

Not one is left will write for thin third day,

Like desperate Pickeroons, no Prize no Pay;

And when they’ve done their best, the Recompence,

Is, Dam the Sot, his Play wants common Sence.

Ill natur’d Wits, who can so ill requite

The Drudging Slaves, who for your Pleasure write.

Look back on flourishing Rome, ye proud Ingrates,

And see how she her thriving Poets treats:

Wisely she priz’d ’em at the noblest Rate,

As necessary Ministers of State,

And contributions rais’d to make ’em great.

They from the publick Bank she did maintain,

And freed from want, they only writ for Fame;

And H4v

And were as useful in a City held,

As formidable Armies in the Field.

They but a Conquest over men pursu’d,

While these by gentler force the Soul subdu’d.

Not Rome in all her happiest Pomp cou’d show

A greater sar than we boast of now;

Augustus Reigns, but Poets still are low.

May Cæsar live, and while his Mighty Hand

Is Scattering Plenty over all the Land;

With God-like Bounty recompencing all,

Some fruitful drops may on the Muses fall;

Since honest Pens do his just cause afford

Equal Advantage with the useful Sword.

Finis.