i 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.

ii A1v iii 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 iv 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, v 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

vi A3v

Prologue Spoken by Mr. Jevern.

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

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.

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- viii 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. 1 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 2 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.

――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. 3 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; 4 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 5 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.

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.

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- 6 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. 7 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. 8 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.

――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 MagnusC nus, 9 C1r 9 nus, 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. 10 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- 11 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 12 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.

Out of a great Curioſity,—A Shepherd did demand of me.―― ――No, no,――A Shepherd this implor’d of me.――

Scratches out, and Writes a new.

Ay, ay, ſo it ſhall go.――Tell me, ſaid he,―― Can you Reſign?――Resign, ay, ――what ſhall 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. 13 C3r 13 Reads.

Ay, Ay,――So it ſhall be, ――Tell me, ſaid he, my Bellemante, ――Will you be kind to your Charmante?Reads thoſe two Lines and is amaz’d.――Ha,—Heav’ns! what’s this? I am amaz’d! ――And yet I’ll venture once more.—Writes and ſtudies. 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. 14 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.

――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 15 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, 16 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. 17 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- 18 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?

My Father was coming into the Chamber, and had like to have 19 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 20 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 21 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.

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 22 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. 23 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. 24 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.――Wereſhip. 25 E1r 25 ſhip.――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. 26 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. 27 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 28 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. 29 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 30 E3v 30 nante 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- 31 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 32 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 33 F1r 33 thing 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. 34 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. 35 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, 36 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 37 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 38 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 Vrinam 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. 39 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. 40 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, 41 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 42 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 43 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. 44 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. 45 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 46 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 47 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 48 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. 49 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 50 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.

――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 51 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.

――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. 52 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 53 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 54 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- 55 H4r

Epilogue.

To be ſpoken by Mrs. Cook.

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 56 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 Cæſar 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.