SCENE IX. Philander’s _Apartments_.

_Enter_ Philander _and_ Cleontius.

_Phi_. I know he’s fled to the Camp,

For there he only can secure himself.

_Cle_. I do not think it, Sir.

He’s too brave to justify an Action

Which was the Outrage only of his Passion,

That soon will toil it self into a Calm,

And then will grow considerate again,

And hate the Rashness it provok’d him to.

_Phi_. That shall not serve his turn--go

Tell him I’ll get his Pardon of the King,

And set him free from other fears of Justice,

But those which I intend to execute.

If he be brave, he’ll not refuse this offer;

If not, I’ll do as he has done by me,

And meet his hated Soul by Treachery. [Cle_. goes out_.

--And then I’ve nothing more to do but die.

--Ah, how agreeable are the thoughts of Death!

How kindly do they entertain my Soul,

And tell it pretty tales of Satisfaction in the other world,

That I shall dwell for ever with _Erminia_?--but stay,

That sacred Spirit yet is unreveng’d,

--I’ll send that Traitor’s Soul to eternal Night,

Then mine shall take its so desired Flight. [_Going out_.

_Enter _Erminia, _calls him_.

_Er_. Return, Philander, whither wouldst thou fly?

_Phi_. What Voice is that? [_Turns, sees her, and is frighted_.

_Er_. ‘Tis I, my Prince, ‘tis I.

_Phi_. Thou--Gods--what art thou--in that lovely shape?

_Er_. A Soul that from Elysium made escape,

[_As she comes towards him, he goes back in great amaze_.

To visit thee; why dost thou steal away?

I’ll not approach thee nearer than I may.

_Phi_. Why do I shake--it is _Erminia’s_ form--

And can that Beauty ought that’s ill adorn?

--In every part _Erminia_ does appear,

And sure no Devil can inhabit there.

[_He comes on and kneels, one knocks, she steals back in at a door_.

_Alcan_. [_Within_.] My Lord the Prince!

_Phi_. Ha--Oh Gods, I charge thee not to vanish yet!

I charge thee by those Powers thou dost obey,

Not to deprive me of thy blessed sight.

_Er_. I will revisit thee. [_Ex_.

_Enter_ Alcander.

_Phi_. I’m not content with that.

--Stay, stay, my dear _Erminia_.

_Alcan_. What mean you, Sir?

[_He rises and looks still afrighted_.

_Phi_. _Alcander_, look, look, how she glides away,

Dost thou not see’t?

_Alcan_. Nothing, Sir, not I.

_Phi_. No, now she’s gone again.

_Alcan_. You are disorder’d, pray sit down a while.

_Phi_. No, not at all, _Alcander_; I’m my self,

I was not in a Dream, nor in a Passion

When she appear’d, her Face a little pale,

But else my own _Erminia_, she her self,

I mean a thing as like, nay, it spoke too,

And I undaunted answer’d it again;

But when you knockt it vanisht.

_Alcan_. ‘Twas this _Aminta_ would persuade me to,

And, faith, I laught at her,

And wish I might have leave to do so now.

_Phi_. You do displease me with your Unbelief.

_Alcan_. Why, Sir, do you think there can indeed be Ghosts?

_Phi_. Pray do not urge my Sense to lose its nature.

_Er_. It is _Alcander_, I may trust him too.

[_She peeps in on them, and comes out_.

_Phi_. Look where she comes again, credit thy Eyes,

Which did persuade thee that they saw her dead.

_Alcan_. By Heaven, and so they did.

[_Both seem frighted_.

--Gods--this is wondrous strange! yet I can bear it,

If it were the Devil himself in that fair shape.

_Phi_. And yet thou shakest.

_Alcan_. I do, but know not why.

--Inform us, lovely Spirit, what thou art,

A God--or Devil; if either, thou art welcome.

_Er_. You cannot think, _Alcander_, there be Ghosts.

[_She gives her hands to him and_ Phi. _which

they refuse to touch_.

No, give me your hand, and prove mine flesh and blood.

--Sir, you were wont to credit what I said,

And I would still merit that kind opinion.

_Phi_. _Erminia_, Soul of Sweetness, is it you?

--How do you ravish with excess of Joys?

_Er_. Softly, dear Sir, do not express that Joy,

Lest you destroy it by your doing so.

I fly for sanctuary to your Arms;

As yet none knows I live, but poor _Isillia_,

Who bathing of my cold face with her tears,

Perceiv’d some signs of life, and us’d what means

Her Love and Duty did instruct her in;

And I in half an hour was so reviv’d,

As I had sense of all was past and done;

And to prevent a death I yet might fear,

If mad _Alcippus_ had return’d again,

--Alone I came to you, where I could find

Alone my Safety too.

_Phi_. From Gods and Men, _Erminia_, thou art safe,

My best and blest _Erminia_.

_Er_. Sir, in my coming hither I met _Aminta_,

Who I may fear has alarm’d all the Court;

She took me for a Ghost, and ran away,

E’er I cou’d undeceive her.

--_Falatius_ too, afrighted even to death--

_Alcan_. Faith, that was lucky, Madam.

--Hark, some body knocks, you’d best retire a little.

[_Leads her into the door_.

_Enter_ Galatea _and_ Aminta _lighted_.

_Gal_. Ah, Brother, there’s such news abroad--

_Phi_. What, dear Sister, for I am here confin’d,

And cannot go to meet it?

_Gal_. _Erminia’s_ Ghost is seen, and I’m so frighted--

_Phi_. You would not fear it though it should appear.

_Gal_. Oh, do not say so;

For though the World had nought I held more dear,

I would not see her Ghost for all the World.

_Alcan_. But, Madam, ‘tis so like _Erminia_--

_Am_. Why, have you seen it too?

_Alcan_. Yes, _Aminta_.

_Am_. Then there be Ghosts, _Alcander_.

_Phi_. _Aminta_, we’ll convince him.

[Phi. _leads out_ Er. _who comes smiling to the_ Princess.

_Gal_. But how, dear Creature, wert thou thus preserv’d?

_Phi_. Another time for that, but now let’s think

[Aminta _embraces her_.

How to preserve her still.

Since all believe her dead, but who are present,

And that they may remain in that blest error,

I will consult with you; but you, my dearest,

Shall as the Spirit of _Erminia_ act,

And reap the glory of so good a part:

It will advance the new design I have;

And, Sister, to your care

I must commit the Treasure of my Life.

_Gal_. It was not kind, she came not first to me.

_Er_. Madam, I fear’d the safety of my Prince,

And every moment that I found I liv’d,

Were more tormenting than those of death,

Till I had undeceiv’d his Apprehensions.

_Phi_. ‘Twas like thy self, generous and kind, my Dear,

Thou mightst have come too late else.

_Er_. But, Sir, pray where’s my Murderer? for yet

A better name I cannot well afford him.

_Gal_. All that we know of him,

_Pisaro_ now inform’d me,

Who came just as he thought he had murder’d thee,

And begg’d he would provide for his own safety.

But he who gave him sober promises,

No sooner found himself out of his arms,

But frantick and i’th’ dark he got away.

But out o’th’ Court he knows he cannot pass

At this dead time of night;

But he believes he is i’th’ Groves or Gardens,

And thither he is gone to find him out.

_Alcan_. This is no place to make a longer stay in,

The King has many Spies about the Prince,

’.were good you would retire to your Apartment.

_Gal_. We’ll take your Counsel, Sir.

--Good night, Brother.

_Phi_. _Erminia_, may thy Dreams be calm and sweet,

As thou hast made my Soul;

May nothing of the Cruelty that’s past,

Approach thee in a rude uneasy thought;

Remember it not so much as in thy Prayers,

Let me alone to thank the Gods for thee,

To whom that Blessing only was ordain’d.

_And when I lose my Gratitude to Heaven,

May they deprive me of the Joys they’ve given_.

[_Exeunt_.

ACT V.

SCENE I. Galatea’s _Apartments_.

_Enter_ Galatea, Erminia, Pisaro, Aminta.

_Gal_. And hast thou found him? Ease my misery.

_Pis_. I have, and done as you commanded me.

I found him sitting by a Fountain side,

Whose Tears had power to swell the little tide,

Which from the Marble Statues breasts still flows:

As silent and as numberless were those.

I laid me down behind a Thicket near,

Where undiscover’d I could see and hear;

The Moon the Day supply’d, and all below

Instructed, even as much as Day could do.

I saw his postures, heard him rave and cry,

_’.was I that kill’d_ Erminia, _yes ‘twas I_;

Then from his almost frantick Head he’d tear

Whole handfuls of his well-becoming Hair:

Thus would he, till his Rage was almost spent,

And then in softer terms he would lament:

Then speak as if _Erminia_ still did live,

And that Belief made him forget to grieve.

--The Marble Statue _Venus_ he mistook

For fair _Erminia_, and such things he spoke,

Such unheard passionate things, as e’en wou’d move

The marble Statue’s self to fall in love;

He’d kiss its Breast, and say she kind was grown,

And never mind, alas, ‘twas senseless Stone;

He took its Hand, and to his Mouth had laid it,

But that it came not, and its stay betray’d it;

Then would he blush, and all asham’d become,

His Head declining, for awhile be dumb:

His Arms upon his Breast across would lay,

Then sensibly and calmly walk away;

And in his walk a thousand things he said,

Which I forgot, yet something with me staid;

He did consult the nature of the Crime,

And still concluded that ‘twas just in him;

He run o’er all his life, and found no act

That was ungenerous in him, but this fact,

From which the Justice took off the Disgrace,

And might even for an act of Virtue pass;

He did consult his Glory and his Pride;

And whilst he did so, laid his grief aside;

--Then was as calm as e’er he seem’d to be.

_Gal_. And all this while did he ne’er mention me?

_Pis_. Yes, Madam, and a thousand things he said,

By which much Shame and Passion he betray’d:

And then ‘twas, Madam, I stept in and gave

Counsels, I thought him fittest to receive;

I sooth’d him up, and told him that the Crime

I had committed, had the case been mine.

I all things said that might his Griefs beguile,

And brought him to the sweetness of a Smile.

--To all I said he lent a willing ear,

And my reproaches too at last did hear.

With this insensibly I drew him on,

And with my flatteries so upon him won,

Such Gentleness infus’d into his Breast,

As has dispos’d his wearied Soul to rest:

Sleeping upon a Couch I’ve left him now,

And come to render this account to you. [_Bows_.

_Gal_. _Pisaro_, ‘twas the office of a Friend,

And thou’st perform’d it to a generous end:

Go on and prosper in this new design,

And when thou’st done, the glory shall be thine.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II. _The Bedchamber of_ Alcippus.

_Draws off, discovers_ Alcippus _rising from the Couch_.

_Alcip_. I cannot sleep, my Soul is so unfurnish’d

Of all that Sweetness which allow’d it rest.

--’Tis flown, ‘tis flown, for ever from my breast,

And in its room eternal discords dwell,

Such as outdo the black intrigues of Hell--

Oh my fortune--

[_Weeps, pulling out his handkerchief, drops a

Picture with a Glass on the reverse_.

--What’s here? Alas, that which I dare not look on,

And yet, why should I shun that Image here,

Which I continually about me bear?

But why, dear Picture, art thou still so gay,

Since she is gone from whom those Charms were borrow’d?

Those Eyes that gave this speaking life to thine,

Those lovely Eyes are clos’d in endless darkness;

There’s not a Star in all the face of Heaven,

But now out-shines those Suns:

Suns at Noon-day dispens’d not kindlier influence.

And thou blest Mirror, that hast oft beheld

That Face, which Nature never made a fairer;

Thou that so oft her Beauties back reflected,

And made her know what wondrous power there lay

In every Feature of that lovely Face.

But she will smile no more! no more! no more!

--Why, who shall hinder her? Death, cruel Death.

--’Twas I that murder’d her--

Thou lyest--thou durst as well be damn’d as touch her,

She was all sacred; and that impious Hand

That had profanely touch’d her,

Had wither’d from the Body.

--I lov’d her--I ador’d her, and could I,

Could I approach her with unhallowed thoughts?

--No, no, I durst not--

But as devoutest Pilgrims do the Shrine.

--If I had done’t,

The Gods who take the part of Innocence,

Had been reveng’d--

Why did not Thunder strike me in the Action?

Why, if the Gods be just, and I had done’t,

Did they not suffer Earth to swallow me,

Quick--quick into her bosom?

--But yet I say again, it was not I,

--Let me behold this face,

That durst appear in such a Villany.

[_He looks in the glass_.

_Enter_ Pisaro, _and_ Erminia _drest like an Angel with Wings_.

_Pis_. Look where he is.

_Er_. Alas, I tremble at the sight of him.

_Pis_. Fear nothing, Madam, I’ll be near you still.

_Er_. Pray stay a little longer.

_Alcip_.--My Face has Horror in’t pale and disfigur’d,

And lean as Envy’s self--

My Eyes all bloody,--and my hanging lids

Like Midnight’s mischief, hide the guilty Balls,

--And all about me calls me Murderer:

--Oh horrid Murderer!

That very Sound tears out my hated Soul,

--And to compleat my ruin,

I’ll still behold this face where Murder dwells.

[_He looks in the glass_, Erminia _steals behind him, and

looks into it over his shoulder; he is frighted_.

Ha--what does this Glass present me?

What art thou?--speak--What art thou?

[_Turns by degrees towards it_.

--Sure I am fixt, what, shall the Devil fright me?

--Me shall he fright,

Who stood the Execution of a Murder?

--But ‘tis that Shape, and not thy Nature frights me,

--That calls the blood out of my panting Heart,

That Traytor Heart that did conspire thy death.

_Er_. Sit down and hear me--

[_In a tone like a Spirit, and points to a Chair; soft

Musick begins to play, which continues all this Scene_.

To disobey, thy punishment shall be;

To live in endless torments, but ne’er die.

_Alcip_. Thou threatnest high, bold Rebel,

[_He sits within the Scene, bows_.

Er. Alcippus, _tell me what you see,

What is’t that I appear to be_?

_Alcip_. My blest _Erminia_ deify’d.

Er. Alcippus, _you inform me true;

I am thus deify’d by you;

To you I owe this blest abode,

For I am happy as a God;

I only come to tell thee so,

And by that tale to end thy Woe;

Know, Mighty Sir, your Joy’s begun,

From what last night to me was done;

In vain you rave, in vain you weep,

For what the Gods must ever keep;

In vain you mourn, in vain deplore

A loss which tears can ne’er restore.

The Gods their Mercies will dispense,

In a more glorious Recompence;

A World of Blessings they’ve in store,

A World of Honours, Vict’ries more;

Thou shalt the Kingdom’s Darling be,

And Kings shall Homage pay to thee;

Thy Sword no bounds to Conquest set,

And thy Success that Sword shall whet;

Princes thy Chariot-wheel shall grace,

Whilst thou in Triumph bring’st home Peace.

This will the Gods; thy King yet more

Will give thee what those Gods adore;

And what they did create for thee_,

Alcippus, _look, for that is she_.

_Enter the_ Princess, _who goes over the Stage as a Spirit,

bows a little to_ Alcippus, _and goes off_.

_Alcip_. The Princess! [_He offers to rise_.

Er. _Be still; ‘tis she you must possess,

‘Tis she must make your happiness;

‘Tis she must lead you on to find

Those Blessings Heaven has design’d:

‘Tis she’ll conduct you, where you’ll prove

The perfect Joys of grateful Love_.

Enter _Aminta_ like Glory, _Alcander_ representing _Honour_.

They pass over and bow, and go out.

_Glory and Honour wait on her_.

Enter two more representing _Mars_ and _Pallas_, bow and go out.

_With_ Pallas _and the God of War_,

Enter _Olinda_ like _Fortune_, a _Page_ like _Cupid_, bow and go out.

_Fortune and Love which ne’er agree,

Do now united bow to thee.

--Be wise, and of their Bounties share;

For if_ Erminia _still was here,

Still subject to the toils of Life,

She never could have been thy Wife,

Who by the Laws of Men and Heaven

Was to another’s bosom given:

--And what Injustice thou hast done,

Was only to thy Prince alone;

But he has mercy, can redeem

Those Ills which thou hast done to him.

--But see, they all return again_.

[All the Disguis’d enter again and dance, with _Love_ in the midst,

to whom as they dance, they in order make an offer of what they carry,

which must be something to represent them by; which _Love_ refuses

with Nods, still pointing to _Alcippus_: the Dance done, they lay them

at his feet, or seem to do so, and go out.

_What think’st thou of thy Destiny,

Is’t not agreeable to thee?

Tell me_, Alcippus, _is’t not brave?

Is it not better than a Grave?

Cast off your Tears, abandon Grief,

And give what you have seen belief.

Dress all your Looks, and be as gay

As Virgins in the Month of_ May;

_Deck up that Face where Sorrow grows,

And let your Smiles adorn your brows;

Recal your wonted Sweetness home,

And let your Eyes all Love become:

For what the Gods have willed and said,

Thou hast no power to evade.

What they decree none can withstand,

You must obey what they command_.

[She goes out, he remains immoveable for a while.

_Enter_ Pisaro.

_Pis_. How is it, man?--what, speechless?

_Alcip_. No.

_Pis_. I left thee on the Bed, how camest thou here?

_Alcip_. I know not.

_Pis_. Have you slept?

_Alcip_. Yes, ever since you left me;

And ‘twas a kindness in thee now to wake me;

For Sleep had almost flatter’d me to Peace,

Which is a vile injustice.

Hah, _Pisaro_, I had such a Dream,

Such a fine flattering Dream--

_Pis_. How was it, pray?

_Alcip_. Nay, I will forget it;

I do not merit so much peace of mind,

As the relation of that Dream will give me:

Oh, ‘twas so perfect, too,

I hardly can persuade my self I slept!

Dost thou believe there may be Apparitions?

_Pis_. Doubtless, my Lord, there be.

_Alcip_. I never could believe it till this hour,

By Heavens, I think I saw them too, _Pisaro_.

_Pis_. ‘Tis very possible you’re not deceiv’d.

_Alcip_. _Erminia’s_ Spirit, in a glorious form.

_Pis_. I do believe you.

_Alcip_. Why, is’t not strange?

_Pis_. It would have been, had I not heard already

She has this night appear’d to several Persons,

In several Shapes; the first was to the Prince;

And said so many pretty things for you,

As has persuaded him to pardon you.

_Alcip_. Oh Gods, what Fortune’s mine!

I do believe the Prince is innocent

From all that thou hast said.

--But yet I wish he would dispose his Bounties

On those that would return acknowledgments;

I hate he should oblige me.

_Pis_. You are too obstinate, and must submit.

_Alcip_. It cannot be, and yet methinks I give

A strange and sudden credit to this Spirit,

It beckon’d me into another room;

I’ll follow it, and know its business there. [_Aside_.

_Pis_. Come, Sir, I am a kind of Prophet,

And can interpret Dreams too.

We’ll walk a while, and you shall tell me all,

And then I would advise you what to do.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE III. _The King’s Chamber_.

_Enter_ Philander _with the_ King.

_King_. Thou’st entertain’d me with a pretty Story,

And call’d up so much Nature to thy Cause,

That I am half subjected to its Laws;

I find thy lovely Mother plead within too,

And bids me put no force upon thy Will;

Tells me thy Flame should be as unconfin’d

As that we felt when our two Souls combin’d.

Alas, _Philander_, I am old and feeble,

And cannot long survive:

But thou hast many Ages yet to number

Of Youth and Vigour; and should all be wasted

In the Embraces of an unlov’d Maid?

No, my _Philander_, if that after death

Ought could remain to me of this World’s Joys,

I should remember none with more delight,

Than those of having left thee truly happy.

_Phi_. This Goodness, Sir, resembles that of Heaven,

Preserving what it made, and can be paid

Only with grateful Praise as we do that.

_King_. Go, carry on your innocent design,

And when you’ve done, the last act shall be mine.

[_Exeunt_

SCENE IV. _The Court Gallery_.

_Enter_ Aminta _followed by_ Alcander, Erminia _and_ Galatea;

_they go out: re-enter_ Alcander, _and stays_ Aminta.

_Alcan_. Stay, dear _Aminta_, do not fly so fast.

_Am_. Methinks, _Alcander_, you should shun that Maid,

Of whose too much of kindness you’re afraid.

’.was not long since you parted in such feud,

And swore my treatment of you was too rude;

You vow’d you found no Beauty in my eyes,

And can you now pursue what you despise? [_Offers to go_.

_Alcan_. Nay, do not leave me yet, for still your Scorn

Much better than your Absence may be borne.

_Am_. Well, Sir, your business, for mine requires haste.

_Alcan_. Say, fair _Aminta_, shall I never find

You’ll cease this Rigour, and be kind?

Will that dear Breast no Tenderness admit?

And shall the Pain you give no Pity get?

Will you be never touch’d with what I say?

And shall my Youth and Vows be thrown away?

You know my Passion and my Humour too,

And how I die, though do not tell you so.

_Am_. What arguments will you produce to prove

You love? for yet I’ll not believe you love.

_Alcan_. Since, fair _Aminta_, I did thee adore,

Alas, I am not what I was before:

My Thoughts disorder’d from my Heart do break;

And Sighs destroy my Language when I speak.

My Liberty and my Repose I gave,

To be admitted but your Slave;

And can you question such a Victory?

Or must I suffer more to make it sure?

It needs not, since these Languishments can be

Nought but the Wounds which you alone can cure.

_Am. Alcander_, you so many Vows have paid,

So many Sighs and Tears to many a Maid,

That should I credit give to what you say,

I merit being undone as well as they.

--No, no, _Alcander_, I’ll no more of that.

_Alcan_. Farewel, _Aminta_, mayst thou want a Lover,

When I shall hate both thee and thy whole Sex;

I can endure your sober Cruelty,

But do despise it clad in Jollity.

[_Exeunt severally_.

SCENE V.

_Discovers a Room hung with Black, a Hearse standing in it with

Tapers round about it_, Alcippus _weeping at it, with_ Isillia,

_and other Women with long black Veils round about the Hearse_.

_Isil_. I humbly beg, my Lord, you would forbear.

_Alcip_. Oh _Isillia_,

Thou knowest not what vast Treasure this incloses,

This sacred Pile; is there no Sorrow due to it?

Alas, I bad her not farewel at parting.

Nor did receive so much as one poor Kiss.

--Ah wretched, wretched Man!

_Enter the_ Prince.

How, the Prince!

How suddenly my Grief submits to Rage.

_Phi. Alcippus_, why dost thou gaze thus on me?

What Horror have I in my looks that frights thee?

_Alcip_. Why, Sir, what makes you here?

I have no more Wives, no more _Erminias_;

Alas, she is dead--

Will you not give her leave to rest in peace?

_Phi_. Is this the Gratitude you pay my Favours,

That gave ye life, after your wrongs to me?

But ‘twas my Sister’s Kindness that preserv’d thee

And I prefer’d my Vengeance to the Gods.

_Alcip_. Your Sister is a Saint whom I adore;

But I refuse a Life that comes from you.

_Isil_. What mean you, Sir?

_Alcip_. To speak a truth, as dying Men should do.

_Phi. Alcippus_, for my Sister’s sake who loves you,

I can bear more than this--you know my power,

And I can make you fear. [_Offers to go out_.

_Alcip_. No, Prince, not whilst I am in love with dying.

_Phi_. Your love to that I see has made you impudent.

_Isil_. The Storm comes on, your Highness should avoid it.

_Phi_. Let him give place, I’ll keep possession here.

_Isil_. It is the Prince’s pleasure, Sir, you quit the Presence.

_Alcip_. No, this I call my Home;

And since _Erminia’s_ here that does entitle it so,

I will not quit the Presence.

_Phi_. Gave thee a Title to’t, _Alcippus_?

_Alcip_. Me, _Philander_!

[_They come to each other’s breast, and so draw_.

_Phi_. Thee.

_Alcip_. Me, what dare you now?

_Phi_. I dare declare that I can hear no more;

Be witness, Heaven, how justly I’m compell’d.

_Alcip_. Now, Sir, you are brave and love _Erminia_ too.

[_The Women run all away crying; they draw out some

one way, and some another, leaving some their Veils

behind them, some half off, half on_.

_Phi_. We are here not safe, these Women will betray us.

_Alcip_. Sir, ‘tis a work that will soon be dispatcht,

And this a place and time most proper for’t.

[_A pass or two_. Fal. _peeps in and runs away.

Enter_ Pisaro, _runs between_.

_Pis_. Hold, Sir, are you grown desperate?

What means your Highness? [_To the_ Prince.

_Alcippus_, what is’t you design in this?

_Alcip_. To fight, _Pisaro_, and be kill’d.

_Pis_. By Heaven, you shall not fight, unless with me,

And you have so anger’d me with this rash action,

I could almost provoke you to it.

_Enter_ Alcander.

_Alcan_. Gods, Sir, that you should thus expose your self,

The World’s great Heir, against a desperate Madman!

_Pis_. Have you forgot your Apparition, Sir?

_Alcip_. Oh, ‘twas an idle lying one, _Pisaro_,

And came but to intrap me.

_To them_ Galatea, Aminta, _and_ Olinda.

_Gal_. Ah, Brother, why so cruel to your Sister?

_Phi_. Here, _Galatea_, punish my misfortune,

For yet I want the will to injure thee.

Heaven knows what provocations I receiv’d

E’er I would draw a Sword on him you lov’d.

_Gal_. Unjust _Alcippus_, how dost thou reward me?

_Alcip_. Ah, Madam, I have too much shame to live.

Had Heaven preserv’d my Innocence intire,

That I with confidence might have ador’d you,

Though I had been successless;

Yet I had liv’d and hop’d, and aim’d to merit you:

But since all hopes of that are taken from me,

My Life is but too poor a Sacrifice,

To make atonement for my Sins to you.

_Gal_. I will not answer thee to what thou hast said,

But only beg thou wilt preserve thy life,

Without which mine will be of little use to me.

_Alcip_. Might I without a sin believe this Blessing,

Sure I should be immortal.

Falatio _peeps in again_.

_Fal_. I think I may venture, the fury is past, and the great shot

spent, the mad Captain General’s wounded; so, I hope ‘twill let out

some of his hot blood--

_Enter the_ King, Cleontius, _and Attendants_.

_King_. My Love, _Alcippus_, is despis’d I see,

And you in lieu of that return you owe me,

Endeavour to destroy me.

--Is this an Object for your Rage to work on?

Behold him well, _Alcippus_, ‘tis your Prince.

--Who dares gaze on him with irreverend Eyes?

The good he does you ought to adore him for,

But all his evils ‘tis the Gods must punish,

Who made no Laws for Princes.

_Alcip_. Sir, I confess I’m culpable,

And were it not a sin equal to that,

To doubt you could forgive me,

I durst not hope your mercy after it.

_King_. I think with all the Tenderness I’m guilty of,

I hardly shall be brought to pardon thee.

_Phi_. I humbly beg you will forgive him, Sir,

I drew him to it against his will; I forc’d him,

And gave him language not to be indur’d

By any gallant man.

_King_. Whilst you intreat for him, who pleads for you?

For you are much the guiltier of the two,

And need’st a greater interest to persuade me.

_Alcip_. It were not just to contradict my Prince,

A Prince to whom I’ve been so late a Traitor;

But, Sir, ‘tis I alone am criminal,

And ‘twas I,

Justly I thought provok’d him to this hazard:

’.is I was rude, impatient, insolent,

Did like a Madman animate his Anger,

Not like a generous Enemy.

Sir, when you weigh my Sorrows with this Action,

You’ll find no base Design, no Villany there;

But being weary of a Life I hated,

I strove to put it off, and missing that way,

I come to make an offer of it here.

_King_. If I should take it, ‘twere no more than just;

Yet once again I will allow it thee,

That thou mayst owe me for’t a second time:

Manage it better than the last I gave--

[_Ex_. King.

_Phi. Alcippus_, may I credit what thou’st said,

Or do you feign repentance to deceive me?

_Alcip_. I never could dissemble at my best,

And now methinks your Highness should believe me,

When my despairs and little love to life

Make me despise all ways that may preserve it.

_Phi_. If thou wouldst have me credit thee, _Alcippus_,

Thou shouldst not disesteem a Life, which ought

To be preserv’d, to give a proof that what thou say’st

Is true, and dispossess me of those fears I have,

That ‘tis my Life makes thine displeasing to thee.

_Alcip_. ‘Tis a high proof to give you of my Duty,

Yet that’s more ease to me than your Unbelief.

_Phi_. Let me embrace and thank thee for this goodness.

[_He offers to embrace him, but he is shy, and keeps a little off_.

Why dost receive me coldly? I’m in earnest;

As I love Honour, and esteem thee generous,

I mean thee nothing but a perfect Friendship;

By all my hopes I’ve no more quarrels to thee,

All ends in this Embrace, and to confirm it

I give thee here my Sister to thy Wife.

_Alcip_. Your Pardon, Sir,

I must refuse your bounty, till I know

By what strange turn of Fate I came thus blest.

To you, my Prince, I’ve done unheard-of injuries,

And though your Mercy do afford me life,

With this rich present too;

Till I could know I might deserve them both,

That Life will prove a Plague, and this great Gift

Turn to the torment of it.

_Phi. Alcippus_, ‘tis not kind to doubt me still,

Is this a present for a Man I hate?

_Alcip_. ‘Tis true, Sir, and your bounty does amaze me;

Can I receive a blessing of this magnitude

With hands, yet have not wash’d away the sin

Of your _Erminia’s_ murder? think of that, Sir;

For though to me it did appear most just,

Yet you must hate the Man that has undone you.

_Gal_. I see _Erminia_ still usurps your thoughts.

_Alcip_. I must confess my Soul is scarce diverted

Of that fond Passion which I had for her;

But I protest before the Gods and you,

Did she still live, and I might still possess her,

I would refuse it, though I were ignorant

Of what the Gods and your fair self design me.

_Phi_. To doubt thee were a sin below my nature,

And to declare my faith above my fear,

Behold what I present thee with.

[_Goes out, and enters again with_ Erminia.

_Alcip_. Ha--_Erminia_? [_He looks afrighted_.

--It is the same appear’d to me last night,

--And my deluded Fancy

Would have persuaded me ‘twas but a dream.

_Phi_. Approach her, Sir, ‘tis no fantasm.

_Alcip_. ‘Tis she her self, Oh Gods, _Erminia_!

[_She goes a little back, as afraid, he kneels_.

--Ah, Madam, do not fear me in this posture,

Which I will never quit till you have pardon’d me;

It was a fault the most excusable,

That ever wretched Lover did commit;

And that which hinder’d me from following thee,

Was that I could not well repent the Crime;

But like a surly Sinner fac’d it out,

And said, I thought ‘twas just, yes, fair _Erminia_;

Hadst thou been mine, I would i’th’ face of Heaven,

Proclaim it just and brave revenge:

But, Madam, you were Wife to my Prince,

And that was all my sin:

Alas, in vain I hop’d for some return,

And grew impatient of th’unkind delay,

And frantickly I then out-run my happiness.

_Er_. Rise, I forgive thee, from my soul I do;

Mayst thou be happier

In thy more glorious Passion for the Princess,

And all the Joys thou e’er couldst hope from me,

Mayst thou find there repeated.

_Enter_ King, Orgulius, _and the rest_.

_Org_. First, I’ll keep my word with thee,

Receive the welcome present which I promis’d.

[_Gives him_ Erminia, _she kneels_.

_Er_. Can you forgive the Griefs I’ve made you suffer?

_Org_. I can forgive, though ‘twas not kind

To let me languish in a desperate Error;

Why was this Blessing hid from me alone?

_Er_. Ah, Sir, so well I knew you lov’d _Alcippus_,

That had you known it e’er the Prince had own’d me,

I fear you had restor’d me back again,

A Sin too great to load your Soul withal.

_Org_. My King already has forgiven that Error,

And now I come to make my Peace with thee,

And that I may with greatest speed obtain it,

--To you, Sir, I resign her with as much Joy, [_To the Prince_.

And when they undeceiv’d me

Of my opinion of her being dead--

_Phi_. And I with greater Joy receive your gift.

[_Bows and takes her_.

_King_. My Lord _Alcippus_, are you pleas’d with this?

_Alcip_. Sir, I am so pleas’d, so truly pleas’d with it,

That Heaven, without this Blessing on my Prince,

Had found but little trouble from my thanks,

For all they have shower’d on me;

’.was all I wisht, next my Pretensions here.

_King_. Then to compleat thy happiness,

Take _Galatea_, since her Passion merits thee,

As do thy Virtues her.

[_Gives him_ Gal. _they both bow_.

_Er_. Sir, I’ve an humble suit t’your Majesty.

_King_. Conclude it granted then.

_Er. Falatius_, Sir, has long made love t’ _Isillia_,

And now he’as gain’d her Heart, he slights the Conquest,

Yet all the fault he finds is that she’s poor.

_King. Isillia’s_ Beauty can supply that want;

_Falatius_, what d’ye say to’t?

_Fal_. By _Jove_, Sir, I’ll agree to any thing; for I believe a

handsome young Wife at Court may bring a Man a greater Fortune

than he can in Conscience desire.

[_Takes_ Isillia.

_Er. Aminta_, be persuaded. [_Aside to_ Am.

_Am_. He’d use me scurvily then.

_Alcan_. That’s according as you behav’d yourself, _Aminta_.

_Am_. I should domineer.

_Alcan_. I then should make love elsewhere.

_Am_. Well, I find we shall not agree then.

_Alcan_. Faith--now we have disputed a point I never thought on

before, I would willingly pursue it for the humour on’t, not that

I think I shall much approve on’t.

_Pis_. Give him your hand, _Aminta_, and conclude,

’.is time this haughty humour were subdu’d.

By your submission, whatsoe’er he seem,

In time you’ll make the greater Slave of him.

_Am_. Well--not from the hope of that, but from my Love,

His change of humour I’m content to prove.

Here take me, _Alcander_;

Whilst to Inconstancy I bid adieu,

I find variety enough in you.

[_He takes her and bows_.

_King_. Come my brave Youths, we’ll toil our selves with Joys,

And when we’re weary of the lazy play,

We’ll search abroad to find new Conquests out,

And get fresh Appetites to new Delights:

It will redouble your vast stock of Courage,

And make th’uneasy Humour light and gentle;

When you remember even in heat of Battle,

That after all your Victories and Spoil,

You’ll meet calm Peace at home in soft Embraces.

Thus may you number out your happy years,

_Till Love and Glory no more proofs can give

Of what they can bestow, or you receive_.

[_Exeunt_.

EPILOGUE,

By a Woman.

_We charged you boldly in our first advance,

And gave the Onset_ à la mode de France,

_As each had been a_ Joan of Orleance.

_Like them our Heat as soon abated too;

Alas we could not vanquish with a Show,

Much more than that goes to the conquering you.

The Trial though will recompense the Pain,

It having wisely taught us how to reign;

’.is Beauty only can our Power maintain.

But yet, as tributary Kings, we own

It is by you that we possess that Throne,

Where had we Victors been, we’ad reign’d alone.

And we have promised what we could not do;

A fault, methinks, might be forgiven too,

Since ‘tis but what we learnt of some of you.

But we are upon equal treatment yet,

For neither conquer, since we both submit;

You to our Beauty bow, we to your Wit_.

THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON.

ARGUMENT.

Doctor Baliardo, a Neapolitan philosopher, has so applied himself to the

study of the Moon, and is enraptured to such an extent with the

mysteries of that orb, that he has come steadfastly to believe in a

lunar world, peopled, ruled and regulated like the earth. This wholly

fills and absorbs his every waking thought, and, in consequence, he

denies his daughter Elaria and his niece Bellemante to their respective

lovers, the Viceroy’s two nephews, Don Cinthio and Don Charmante, as

being men of men of mere terrestial mould. The girls are, however,

secretly assisted in their amours by Scaramouch, the doctor’s man, who

is himself a rival of Harlequin, Cinthio’s valet, for the hand of

Mopsophil, duenna to the young ladies. Harlequin, hoping to find his way

to his mistress, gets to Bellemante’s chamber but when she appears

conceals himself. The doctor, however, who has been hastily summoned to

the bedside of his brother, reported dying, returns a moment after he

has set out for a key which has been accidently dropped from his bunch

and finds Cinthio and Elaria. The gallant can only escape by pretending

to be a lunatic brought to the house for medical treatment and cure. But

during the doctor’s subsequent absence, whilst the two lovers are, as

they suppose, securely entertaining their mistresses, the father is

suddenly heard to return. For the moment they evade him by feigning to

be figures in a rich tapestry (their masquing habits aiding the trick),

which Scaramouch declares he has just purchased. But this sham being

discovered, Scaramouch runs off with the candles and all slip away in

the darkness and confusion, leaving him to return in his shirt as newly

risen from bed. The doctor is bawling for help when the wily servant

totters out yawning and rubbing his eyes to explain the whole affair

away as a delusion or a vision produced by lunar agency, declaring that

there has been a visit from the Moon World of their King and the Prince

of Thunderland, who have descended a-courting Elaria and Bellemante.

This is borne out by the girls themselves, who have previously been well

primed by Mopsophil. After some intriguing between Harlequin and

Scaramouch for the duenna’s hand, in the course of which the former

disguises himself in female attire and again as a country lad, the

latter as a learned apothecary, Charmante visits the doctor, and

feigning to be a cabalist profound in occult lore, bids him prepare that

night to receive Irednozor, monarch of the Moon, and the Prince of

Thunderland who will appear to wed his daughter and his niece. Harlequin

shortly after makes his entry as an ambassador from the celestial

spheres to confirm this news, and as Baliardo, overjoyed, is conversing

with him strains of music are heard to herald the arrival of the lunar

potentates. All repair to an ancient gallery, long disused, whence the

sound proceeds, and here, indeed, a pageant has been secretly arranged.

The room is discovered to be richly adorned with costly hangings and

pictures, ablaze with lights, and presently, after various masqueraders

have appeared dressed as the astronomers Keplair and Galileus, as the

different signs of the zodiac, and in other fantastic garbs, Cinthio and

Charmante are seen in a silver chariot like a half-moon, attended by a

train of heroes and amorini. There is no delay, the lovers are united in

matrimony, Baliardo being overwhelmed at the honour done his house. But

when Scaramouch and Harlequin fight a ridiculous duel, in which the

former wins, for the favour of Mopsophil, the doctor discovers the whole

trick, to wit, that the lunar courtiers are in reality his own friends

and neighbours. He soon, however, yields to the persuasions of the

lovers and the common-sense of his physician, who has taken part in the

masque, and, realizing the folly of the fables he has so long implicitly

believed, condemns his books to the fire and joins in the nuptial

rejoicings with a merry heart.

SOURCE.

Mrs. Behn’s farce is derived from _Arlequin Empereur dans la Lune_,

which was played in Paris by Guiseppe-Domenico Biancolelli, a famous

Harlequin and the leading member of the Italian theatre there from 1660

to 1688. The original Italian scenes from which the French farce is

taken belonged to that impromptu Comedy, ‘Commedia dell’ Arte all’

Improviso,’ which so far from being printed was but rarely even

committed to writing. ‘The development of the intrigue by dialogue and

action was left to the native wit of the several players,’ writes J.A.

Symonds in his excellent and most scholarly introduction prefacing Carlo

Gozzi’s _Memoirs_. In the case of a new play, or rather a new theme, the

choregus or manager would call the company together, read out the plot,

sketch the scenario, explain all business, and leave the dialogue to the

humour and smartness of the individual performer. Their aptitude was

amazing. In Kyd’s _Spanish Tragedy_ we find Heironymo, who wishes to

have a subject mounted in a hurry, saying:--

The Italian tragedians were so sharp of wit,

That in one hour’s meditation

They would perform anything in action.

And Lorenzo rejoins:--

I have seen the like

In Paris, among the French tragedians.

Of course much was bound to become stereotyped and fixed, but much was

ever fluctuating and new.

When Biancolelli died on 2 August, 1688, of pneumonia, contracted

through neglecting to change damp clothes, the loss to the Italian

theatre seemed irreparable, but in the following year an equally

celebrated Harlequin, finer and wittier if not more popular than he,

appeared in the person of Evariste Gherardi. Gherardi was a man of

culture, and he collected and edited a number of scenes, written in

French, which were on the boards intermingled and played with the

Italian farces in order to raise the tone of, and give something more

solid and durable to, these entertainments. In 1695 three volumes of

these scenes were published at Amsterdam, ‘chez Adrian Braakman,’ under

the title _Le Théâtre Italien, ou le Recueil de toutes les Comédies et

Scènes Françoises qui ont été jouées sur le Théâtre Italien par la

Troupe des Comediens du Roy de l’.ôtel de Bourgogne à Paris.

Arlequin Empereur dans la Lune_ had been published in its entirety

eleven years previously (1684), but it was sufficiently popular for

Gherardi to include various scenes therefrom in his collection.

Accordingly he commences his first volume by giving the ‘Scène de la

Fille de Chambre’, where Harlequin, disguised as a woman, pretends to

be seeking a place as waiting-maid to the Doctor--_Emperor of the Moon_,

Act ii, v. In the French, Pierrot, dressed as the Doctor’s wife,

interviews the applicant. Gherardi also gives a scene between Isabella

(Elaria) and Colombine (Mopsophil); a scene where Harlequin arrives

tricked out as an Apothecary to win Colombine (in Mrs. Behn it is

Scaramouch who thus attempts to gain Mopsophil); and the final scene

which differs considerably from the conclusion of the English farce. In

Vol. II there are two further extracts ‘obmises dans le premier Tome’,

a dialogue between the Doctor and Harlequin, ‘recit que fait Arlequin au

Docteur, du Voyage qu’il a fait dans le Monde de la Lune’, and a short

passage between Harlequin and Colombine, both of which can be closely

paralleled in the English version. Mrs. Behn of course used the edition

of 1684. Her statement that she only took ‘a very barren and thin hint

of the Plot’ from the Italian, and again that ‘all the Words are wholly

new, without one from the Original’ must not be pressed too strictly,

although she has undeniably infused a new life, new wit and humour into

the alien scenes.

In Maurice Sand’s standard work on Italian comedy, _Masques et Bouffons_

(Paris, 1860) there will be found copious citations from this pantomime,

the popularity of which he attributes wholly to Gherardi. It was

Biancolelli, however, who first brought it into favour and in whose

lifetime it was actually printed, a rare honour, although doubtless it

was owing to the great Gherardi that it retained and renewed its

success. Gherardi died 31 August, 1700.

As the author himself states in his preface, _Harlequin roi dans la

Lune_, a three act comedy by Bodard de Tézay, produced at the Variétés

Amusantes, 17 December, 1785, has nothing to do with the old Italian

scenes. An opera by Settle, entitled _The World in the Moon_, put on at

Drury Lane in 1697, is quite different from Mrs. Behn’s farce. Settle

has written a comedy which deals with the rehearsal of a new opera, _The

New World in the Moon_. Tom Dawkins, a country lout just arrived in

London, is taken to the theatre to see the rehearsal, and ordinary comic

scenes intermingled with provision for elaborate sets, as the opera

proceeds, form the strangest jumble. The piece takes its name from the

first operatic scene, which represents a huge silver moon that gradually

wanes, whilst a song, ‘Within this happy world above’, is performed.

THEATRICAL HISTORY.

_The Emperor of the Moon_, which is certainly as Lowe says ‘one of the

best pantomimic farces ever seen’ on the English boards at any rate, was

produced with great success at the Duke’s Theatre, Dorset Garden, in

1687. The character of Scaramouch was admirably suited to Tony Leigh, a

low comedian ‘of the mercurial kind’, who ‘in humour ... loved to take a

full career’, whilst Tom Jevon, young, slim and most graceful of

dancers, proved the King of all Harlequins, past, present and to come.

Lee and Jevon also acted the parts of Scaramouch and Harlequin in

Mountford’s three act extravaganza, _Dr. Faustus_ (4to 1697), but

produced a decade earlier, probably November, 1685. Scaramouch is the

necromancer’s man, and the comic scenes, although the stage tricks are

old, prove very good pantomime. It will be remembered that Harlequin and

Scaramouch are to be found in _The Rover_, Part II. Mrs. Behn’s farce

kept its place in the repertory and long remained a favourite. On 18

September, 1702, at Drury Lane, Will Pinkethman, complying with the wish

of several friends and critics, essayed Harlequin without the

traditional black mask, ‘but, alas! in vain: Pinkethman could not take

to himself the shame of the character without being concealed; he was no

more _Harlequin_; his humour was quite disconcerted; his conscience

could not, with the same effrontery, declare against nature, without the

cover of that unchanging face, which he was sure would never blush for

it; no, it was quite another case; without that armour his courage could

not come up to the bold strokes that were necessary to get the better of

common sense.’

Amongst the more notable performances of _The Emperor of the Moon_ were

two at Dorset Garden on the 16 and 21 November, 1706, when Estcourt

acted Scaramouch, and Pinkethman, Harlequin. On 3 September, 1708, at

Drury Lane, Bullock was Scaramouch; Bickerstaffe, Harlequin; Johnson,

the old Doctor; Powell, Don Cinthio. At Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 28 June,

1717, Bullock again sustained Scaramouch and had Spiller as his

Harlequin. Four years later, 6 February, 1721, they were acting the same

rôles at this theatre, with Mrs. Cross as Bellemante, and Quin, Ryan, in

the cast. The farce was repeated on 25 October of the same year. Bullock

and Spiller kept their favourite parts, Hall was Baliardo; Quin,

Cinthio; Ryan, Charmante; Mrs. Egleton, Mopsophil; Mrs. Bullock,

Bellemante. Doggett’s _The Country Wake_ was played the same night. Ten

years later, still at this theatre, on 20 October, 1731, Hall was again

Baliardo and Mrs. Egleton, Mopsophil. On this occasion Pinkethman played

Harlequin; Hippisley, Scaramouch; Milward, Charmante; and Chapman,

Cinthio. The farce was put on as a first piece at Covent Garden, 14

February, 1739. Pinkethman was Harlequin; Rosco, Scaramouch; Arthur, the

Doctor; Hallam, Charmante; Hall, Cinthio; Mrs. James, Mopsophil; Mrs.

Vincent, Elaria; and the fair Bellamy, Bellemante. In 1748 there was a

curious rivalry between the two theatres when both produced _The Emperor

of the Moon_ on the same night, 26 December. At Covent Garden, where it

was billed ‘not acted 10 years’, and produced as a first piece at

considerable expense with magnificent decorations, Cushing played

Harlequin; Dunstall, Scaramouch; Sparks, Baliardo; Ryan, Charmante;

Delane, Cinthio; Peg Woffington, Bellemante; and the Bellamy, Elaria.

It was, however, a dead failure and only acted twice. Contrary to

expectation Cushing was very bad as Harlequin, whilst at Drury Lane

Woodward was excellent. At the Lane, where it was played with Mrs.

Centlivre’s _A Bold Stroke for a Wife_ and billed ‘not acted 20 years’,

Yates took Scaramouch; Palmer, Charmante; King, Cinthio; Winstone,

Baliardo; Miss Murgatroyd, Bellemante; and the inimitable Mrs. Green,

Mopsophil. A great effect was produced when Harlequin is tossed in a

blanket, Act iii. Two long strips were sewn to the sides of the blanket

by which he held. From the front, however, they were invisible, and as

it seemed that Woodward was being thrown to a dangerous height this

spectacle immensely pleased the galleries.

In 1777 _The Emperor of the Moon_, very unnecessarily altered and by no

means bettered ‘with the addition of several airs, duets, and choruses

selected from other compositions’ (8vo, 1777), was produced at the

Patagonian Theatre. This theatre was situated in Exeter Change, Strand,

on a portion of the site of Burleigh House, the town house of the great

Lord Treasurer, which was afterwards known as Exeter House. It is very

doubtful if the theatre existed as such later than 1779.

There is an amusing reference to _The Emperor of the Moon_ in _The

Spectator_, No. 22 (Steele), Monday, 26 March, 1711. ‘_Your most humble

servant_, William Serene’ writes to Mr. Spectator bewailing the fact

that nobody on the stage rises according to merit. Although grown old in

the playhouse service, and having often appeared on the boards, he has

never had a line given him to speak. None the less ‘I have acted’, he

asserts, ‘several Parts of Household-stuff with great Applause for many

years: I am one of the Men in the Hangings in the _Emperour of the

Moon_.’ [The allusion is of course to Act ii, III.] Ralph Simple,

Serene’s friend, in a subsequent letter begs that upon the gentleman’s

promotion to speaking parts ‘I may succeed him in the Hangings, with my

Hand in the Orange-trees’. These humorous allusions are ample evidence

of the popularity of Mrs. Behn’s pantomime and the frequency with which

it was performed.

TO THE LORD MARQUESS OF WORCESTER, &.

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 advantagious Pasport only.

This humble Offering, which I presume to lay at your Lordship’s Feet, is

of that Critical Nature, that it does not only require the Patronage of

a great Title, but a great Man too, and there is often times a vast

difference between these 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 these, your Lordship 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; 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 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 reverenc’d; the Excellency and Quickness of your Wit, is the Subject

that fits 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 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 Doux, had been his chiefest Talent, and who, without considering

the Intent, Character, 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 Heros) as too debas’d and vulgar as 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, 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 Mis-representing 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, &. 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 Indefatigable as that of your Lordship, whose Patronages are

sufficient to support it, whose 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 but favour in your Lordship’s Eyes, and that it can be so

happy to give your Lordship one hour’s Diversion, which is the only

Honour and Fame is wish’d to crown the Endeavours of,

My Lord,

Your Lordship’s

Most Humble, and

Most Obedient

Servant,

A. BEHN.

THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON.

PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mr. _Jevern_.

_Long, and at vast Expence, th’industrious Stage

Has strove to please a dull ungrateful Age:

With Heroes and with Gods we first began,

And thunder’d to you in heroick Strain:

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

And with Magnificence at last were cloy’d:

Our Drums and Trumpets frighted all the Women;

Our Fighting scar’d the Beaux and Billet-Doux 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 showed 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 nettled, Plague, what does 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 leuder Secrets spread about the Town;

Whilst their feign’d Niceness is but cautious Fear,

Their own Intrigues should 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 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 louder_, Jevern, _if you’d have me repeat;

Plague of this Rogue, he will betray the Cheat_.

[He speaks louder, it answers indirectly.

_--Hum--There ‘tis again,

Pox of your Eccho 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’s so hard, but it would 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 mere Machines as they.

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

Is charm’d with, Come into my Coach,--Miss_ Jenny, _Miss_ Jenny.

_But overturning_--Frible _crys--Adznigs,

The jogling Rogue has murder’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 Judgment in your Choice you show,

The Puppets have more Sense than some of you_.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

_Doctor_ Baliardo, Mr. _Underhill_.

Scaramouch, _his Man_, Mr. _Lee_.

Pedro, _his Boy_.

Don Cinthio, Don Charmante, _both Nephews_ Young Mr. _Powel_.

_to the Vice-Roy, and Lovers of_ Elaria _and_ Mr. _Mumford_.

Bellemante,

Harlequin, Cinthio’s _Man_, Mr. _Jevern_.

_Officer and Clerk_.

_Page_.

WOMEN.

Elaria, _Daughter to the Doctor_, Mrs. _Cooke_.

Bellemante, _Niece to the Doctor_, Mrs. _Mumford_.

Florinda, _Cousin to_ Elaria _and_ Bellemante.

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_.

Keplair _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_.

ACT I.

SCENE I. _A Chamber_.

_Enter_ Elaria _and_ Mopsophil.

I.

_A Curse upon that faithless Maid,

Who first her Sex’s Liberty betray’d;

Born free as Man to Love and Range,

Till nobler Nature did to Custom change,

Custom, that dull excuse for Fools,

Who think all Virtue to consist in Rules_.

II.

_From Love our Fetters never sprung;

That smiling God, all wanton, gay and young,

Shows by his Wings he cannot be

Confined to a restless Slavery;

But here and there at random roves,

Not fix’d to glittering Courts, or shady Groves_.

III.

_Then she that Constancy profess’d

Was but a well Dissembler at the best;

And that imaginary Sway

She feign’d to give, in seeming to obey,

Was but the height of prudent Art,

To deal with greater liberty her Heart_.

[After the Song _Elaria_ gives her Lute to _Mopsophil_.

_Ela_. This does not divert me;

Nor nothing will, till _Scaramouch_ return,

And bring me News of _Cinthio_.

_Mop_. Truly I was so sleepy last Night, I know nothing of the

Adventure, for which you are kept so close a Prisoner to day, and more

strictly guarded than usual.

_Ela. Cinthio_ came with Musick last Night under my Window, which my

Father hearing, sallied out with his _Mirmidons_ upon him; and clashing

of Swords I heard, but what hurt was done, or whether _Cinthio_ were

discovered to him, I know not; but the Billet I sent him now by

_Scaramouch_ will occasion me soon Intelligence.

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

_Enter_ Scaramouch, _peeping on all sides before he enters_.

You may advance, and fear none but your Friends.

_Scar_. Away, and keep the door.

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

_Scar_. Yes, yes. [_In heat_.

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

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

_Ela_. Well--and how does he?

_Scar_. Lord, how should he do? Why, what a laborious thing it is to be

a Pimp? [_Fanning himself with his Cap_.

_Ela_. Why, well he shou’d do.

_Scar_. So he is, as well as a Night-adventuring Lover can be,--he has

got but one Wound, Madam.

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

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

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

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

live, if I please.

_Ela_. Thou please! torment me not with Riddles.

_Scar_. Why, Madam, there is a certain cordial Balsam, call’d a Fair

Lady; which outwardly applied to his Bosom, will prove a better cure

than all your Weapon or sympathetick Powder, meaning your Ladyship.

_Ela_. Is _Cinthio_ then not wounded?

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

and unknown.

_Ela_. Dost know how precious time is, and dost thou fool it away thus?

What said he to my Letter?

_Scar_. What should he say?

_Ela_. Why, a hundred dear soft things of Love, kiss it as often, and

bless me for my Goodness.

_Scar_. Why, so he did.

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

fright.

_Scar_. So he did.

_Ela_. Expressing all the kind concern Love cou’d inspire, for the

Punishment my Father has inflicted on me, for entertaining him at my

Window last night.

_Scar_. All this he did.

_Ela_. And for my being confin’d a Prisoner to my Apartment, without the

hope or almost possibility of seeing him any more.

_Scar_. There I think you are a little mistaken; for besides the Plot

that I have laid to bring you together all this Night,--there are such

Stratagems a brewing, not only to bring you together, but with your

Father’s consent too; such a Plot, Madam--

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

_Scar_. Such a Device--

_Ela_. I’m impatient.

_Scar_. Such a Conundrum,--Well, if there be wise Men and Conjurers in

the World, they are intriguing Lovers.

_Ela_. Out with it.

_Scar_. You must know, Madam, your Father (my Master, the Doctor) is a

little whimsical, romantick, or Don-Quicksottish, or so.

_Ela_. Or rather mad.

_Scar_. That were uncivil to be supposed by me; but lunatic we may call

him, without breaking the Decorum of good Manners; for he is always

travelling to the Moon.

_Ela_. And so religiously believes there is a World there, that he

Discourses as gravely of the People, their Government, Institutions,

Laws, Manners, Religion, and Constitution, as if he had been bred a

_Machiavel_ there.

_Scar_. How came he thus infected first?

_Ela_. With reading foolish Books, _Lucian’s Dialogue of the Lofty

Traveller_, who flew up to the Moon, and thence to Heaven; an heroick

Business, call’d _The Man in the Moon_, if you’ll believe a _Spaniard_,

who was carried thither, upon an Engine drawn by wild Geese; with

another Philosophical Piece, _A Discourse of the World in the Moon_;

with a thousand other ridiculous Volumes, too hard to name.

_Scar_. Ay, this reading of Books is a pernicious thing. I was like to

have run mad once, reading Sir _John Mandevil_;--but to the business,--I

went, as you know, to Don _Cinthio’s_ Lodgings, where I found him with

his dear Friend _Charmante_, laying their Heads together for a Farce.

_Ela_. Farce!

_Scar_. Ay, a Farce, which shall be call’d,--_The World in the Moon_:

Wherein your Father shall be so impos’d on, as shall bring matters most

magnificently about.

_Ela_. I cannot conceive thee, but the Design must be good, since

_Cinthio_ and _Charmante_ own it.

_Scar_. In order to this, _Charmante_ is dressing himself like one of

the Caballists of the _Rosycrusian_ Order, and is coming to prepare my

credulous Master for the greater Imposition. I have his Trinkets here to

play upon him, which shall be ready.

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

_Scar_. Here, here, in this very House; I am to order the Decorations,

adorn a Stage, and place Scenes proper.

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

_Scar_. You know the old Apartment next the great Orchard, and the

Worm-eaten Gallery that opens to the River; which place for several

Years no body has frequented; there all things shall be acted proper for

our purpose.

_Enter_ Mopsophil _running_.

_Mop_. Run, run, _Scaramouch_, my Master’s conjuring for you like mad

below, he calls up all his little Devils with horrid Names, his

Microscope, his Horoscope, his Telescope, and all his Scopes.

_Scar_. Here, here,--I had almost forgot the Letters; here’s one for

you, and one for Mrs. _Bellemante_.

[_Runs out_.

_Enter_ Bellemante _with a Book_.

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

_Ela_. Thy Eyes are always laughing, _Bellemante_.

_Bell_. And so would yours, had they been so well employ’d as mine, this

morning. I have been at the Chapel, and seen so many Beaus, such a

number of Plumeys, I cou’d not tell which I should look on most;

sometimes my Heart was charm’d with the gay Blonding, then with the

melancholy Noire, anon the amiable Brunet; sometimes the bashful, then

again the bold; the little now, anon the lovely tall: In fine, my Dear,

I was embarass’d on all sides, I did nothing but deal my Heart _tout

autour_.

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

_Bell_. No, but abundance of pleasure.

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

_Bell_. That’s when he’s present only, and makes his Court to me; I can

sigh to a Lover, but will never sigh after him:--but Oh, the Beaus, the

Beaus, Cousin, that I saw at Church.

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

_Bell_. And so I had; for I did nothing but admire its Handy-work, but I

cou’d not have pray’d heartily, if I had been dying; but a duce on’t,

who shou’d come in and spoil all but my Lover _Charmante_, so dress’d,

so gallant, that he drew together all the scatter’d fragments of my

Heart, confin’d my wandering Thoughts, and fixt ‘em all on him: Oh, how

he look’d, how he was dress’d!

SINGS.

_Chevalier à Cheveux blonds,

Plus de Mouche, plus de Poudre,

Plus de Ribons et Cannons_.

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

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

_Bell_. When I am weary of loving, _Elaria_.

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

Bellemante _reads_.

_Malicious Creature, when wilt thou cease to torment

me, and either appear less charming, or more kind? I languish

when from you, and am wounded when I see you, and yet I am

eternally courting my Pain. _Cinthio_ and I, are contriving

how we shall see you to Night. Let us not toil in vain; we

ask but your consent; the Pleasure will be all ours, ‘tis therefore

fit we suffer all the Fatigue. Grant this, and love me, if you

will save the Life of_

Your _Charmante_.

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

_Ela_. Well, Cousin, _Scaramouch_ tells me of a rare design’s a

hatching, to relieve us from this Captivity; here are we mew’d up to be

espous’d to two Moon-calfs for ought I know; for the Devil of any human

thing is suffer’d to come near us without our Governante and Keeper, Mr.

_Scaramouch_.

_Bell_. Who, if he had no more Honesty and Conscience than my Uncle,

wou’d let us pine for want of Lovers: but thanks be prais’d, the

Generosity of our Cavaliers has open’d their obdurate Hearts with a

Golden Key, that lets ‘em in at all Opportunities. Come, come, let’s in,

and answer their Billet-Doux.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II. _A Garden_.

_Enter_ Doctor, _with all manner of Mathematical Instruments

hanging at his Girdle_; Scaramouch _bearing a Telescope twenty

(or more) Foot long_.

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

_Scar_. About six a Clock, Sir.

_Doct_. Then ‘tis about the Hour that the great Monarch of the Upper

World enters into his Closet; Mount, mount the Telescope.

_Scar_. What to do, Sir?

_Doct_. I understand, at certain moments critical, one may be snatch’d

of such a mighty consequence, to let the Sight into the Secret Closet.

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

will be something uncivil.

_Doct_. Uncivil! it were flat Treason if it should be known; but thus

unseen, and as wise Politicians shou’d, I take survey of all: This is

the Statesman’s Peeping-hole, thorow which he steals the Secrets of his

King, and seems to wink at distance.

_Scar_. The very Key-hole, Sir, thorow which, with half an Eye, he sees

him even at his Devotion, Sir.

[_A knocking at the Garden-gate_.

_Doct_. Take care none enter.

[Scar. _goes to the Door_.

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

_Doct_. Great Man! from whence?

_Scar_. Nay, from the Moon-World, for ought I know, for he looks not

like the People of the lower Orb.

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

[_Exit_ Scar.

_Enter_ Scaramouch _bare, bowing before_ Charmante, _dress’d in

a strange fantastical Habit, with_ Harlequin; _salutes the_ Doctor.

_Char_. Doctor _Baliardo_, most learned Sir, all Hail! Hail from the

great Caballa of _Eutopia_.

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

_Char_. The Fame of your great Learning, Sir, and Virtue is known with

Joy to the renown’d Society.

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

renown’d _Caballa_.

_Char_. You must not attribute it all to Fame, Sir, they are too learned

and wise to take up things from Fame, Sir: our Intelligence is by ways

more secret and sublime, the Stars, and little Daemons of the Air inform

us all things, past, present, and to come.

_Doct_. I must confess the Count of _Gabalis_ renders it plain, from

Writ divine and humane, there are such friendly and intelligent Daemons.

_Char_. I hope you do not doubt that Doctrine, Sir, which holds that the

Four Elements are peopled with Persons of a Form and Species more divine

than vulgar Mortals--those of the fiery Regions we call the

_Salamanders_, they beget Kings and Heroes, with Spirits like their

Deietical Sires; the lovely Inhabitants of the Water, we call Nymphs;

those of the Earth are Gnomes or Fairies; those of the Air are Sylphs.

These, Sir, when in Conjunction with Mortals, beget immortal Races; such

as the first-born Man, which had continu’d so, had the first Man ne’er

doated on a Woman.

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

_Char_. Most certain, Sir, Man was to have been immortaliz’d by the Love

and Conversation of these charming Sylphs and Nymphs, and Women by the

Gnomes and Salamanders, and to have stock’d the World with Demi-Gods,

such as at this Day inhabit the Empire of the Moon.

_Doct_. Most admirable Philosophy and Reason!--But do these Sylphs and

Nymphs appear in Shapes?

_Char_. The most beautiful of all the Sons and Daughters of the

Universe: Fancy, Imagination is not half so charming: And then so soft,

so kind! but none but the _Caballa_ and their Families are blest with

their divine Addresses. Were you but once admitted to that Society--

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

great Honour?

_Char_. An absolute abstinence from carnal thought, devout and pure of

Spirit; free from Sin.

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

Purity?

_Char_. Are you very secret?

_Doct_. ‘Tis my first Principle, Sir.

_Char_. And one, the most material in our _Rosycrusian_ order.--Please

you to make a Tryal?

_Doct_. As how, Sir, I beseech you?

_Char_. If you be thorowly purg’d from Vice, the Opticles of your Sight

will be so illuminated, that glancing through this Telescope, you may

behold one of these lovely Creatures, that people the vast Region of

the Air.

_Doct_. Sir, you oblige profoundly.

_Char_. Kneel then, and try your strength of Virtue. Sir,--Keep your Eye

fix’d and open. [_He looks in the Telescope_.

[_While he is looking_, Charmante _goes to the Door to_ Scaramouch,

_who waited on purpose without, and takes a Glass with a Picture of

a Nymph on it, and a Light behind it; that as he brings it, it shews

to the Audience. Goes to the end of the Telescope_.

--Can you discern, Sir?

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

gone again.

_Char_. Saw you no Fuger?

_Doct_. None.

_Char_. Then make a short Prayer to _Alikin_, the Spirit of the East;

shake off all earthly Thoughts, and look again.

[_He prays_. Charmante _puts the Glass into the Mouth

of the Telescope_.

_Doct_.--Astonish’d, ravish’d with Delight, I see a Beauty young and

Angel-like, leaning upon a Cloud.

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

_Doct_. Now a Cloud veils her from me.

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

between.

_Doct_. I am all Rapture, Sir, at this rare Vision--is’t possible, Sir,

that I may ever hope the Conversation of so divine a Beauty?

_Char_. Most possible, Sir; they will court you, their whole delight is

to immortalize--_Alexander_ was begot by a Salamander, that visited his

Mother in the form of a Serpent, because he would not make King _Philip_

jealous; and that famous Philosopher _Merlin_ was begotten on a Vestal

Nun, a certain King’s Daughter, by a most beautiful young Salamander; as

indeed all the Heroes, and Men of mighty Minds are.

_Doct_. Most excellent!

_Char_. The Nymph _Egeria_, inamour’d on _Numa Pompilius_, came to him

invisible to all Eyes else, and gave him all his Wisdom and Philosophy.

_Zoroaster, Trismegistus, Apuleius, Aquinius, Albertus Magnus, Socrates_

and _Virgil_ had their Zilphid, which the Foolish call’d their Daemon or

Devil. But you are wise, Sir.

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

Mortal?

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

upon.

_Doct_. But, Sir, I have a Niece and Daughter which I love equally, were

it not possible they might be immortaliz’d?

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

_Doct_. I think they are, and I’ll take care to keep ‘em so; for I

confess, Sir, I would fain have a Hero to my Grandson.

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

_Iredonozar_?

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

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

[_He prays_. Char. _claps the Glass with the Emperor on it,

he looks in and sees it_.

_Doct_. It is too much, too much for mortal Eyes! I see a Monarch seated

on a Throne--but seems most sad and pensive.

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

be private.

_Doct_. His Love-Fit, Sir!

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

_Doct_. And can he not command her?

_Char_. Yes, but her Quality being too mean, he struggles, though a

King, ‘twixt Love and Honour.

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

_Char_. ‘Tis yet unknown, Sir, to the Caballists, who now are using all

their Arts to find her, and serve his Majesty; but now my great Affair

deprives me of you: To morrow, Sir, I’ll wait on you again; and now I’ve

try’d your Virtue, tell you Wonders.

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

[Charmante _goes out_. Doctor _waits on him to the Door,

and returns: to him_ Scaramouch. _All this while_ Harlequin

_was hid in the Hedges, peeping now and then, and when his

Master went out he was left behind_.

_Scar_. So, so, Don _Charmante_ has played his Part most exquisitely;

I’ll in and see how it works in his Pericranium.

--Did you call, Sir?

_Doct. Scaramouch_, I have, for thy singular Wit and Honesty, always

had a Tenderness for thee above that of a Master to a Servant.

_Scar_. I must confess it, Sir.

_Doct_. Thou hast Virtue and Merit that deserves much.

_Scar_. Oh Lord, Sir!

_Doct_. And I may make thee great;--all I require, is, that thou wilt

double thy diligent Care of my Daughter and my Niece; for there are

mighty things design’d for them, if we can keep ‘em from the sight

of Man.

_Scar_. The sight of Man, Sir!

_Doct_. Ay, and the very Thoughts of Man.

_Scar_. What Antidote is there to be given to a young Wench, against the

Disease of Love and Longing?

_Doct_. Do you your Part, and because I know thee discreet and very

secret, I will hereafter discover Wonders to thee. On pain of Life, look

to the Girls; that’s your Charge.

_Scar_. Doubt me not, Sir, and I hope your Reverence will reward my

faithful Services with _Mopsophil_, your Daughter’s Governante, who is

rich, and has long had my Affection, Sir.

[Harlequin _peeping, cries Oh Traitor_!

_Doct_. Set not thy Heart on transitory Mortal, there’s better things in

store--besides, I have promis’d her to a Farmer for his Son.--Come in

with me, and bring the Telescope.

[_Ex_. Doctor _and_ Scaramouch.

Harlequin _comes out on the Stage_.

_Har_. My Mistress _Mopsophil_ to marry a Farmer’s Son! What, am I then

forsaken, abandon’d by the false fair One? If I have Honour, I must die

with Rage; Reproaching gently, and complaining madly. It is resolv’d,

I’ll hang my self--No, when did I ever hear of a Hero that hang’d him

self?--No, ‘tis the Death of Rogues. What if I drown my self?--No,

Useless Dogs and Puppies are drown’d; a Pistol or a Caper on my own

Sword wou’d look more nobly, but that I have a natural Aversion to Pain.

Besides, it is as vulgar as Rats-bane, or the slicing of the Weasand.

No, I’ll die a Death uncommon, and leave behind me an eternal Fame. I

have somewhere read an Author, either antient or modern, of a Man that

laugh’d to death.--I am very ticklish, and am resolv’d to die that

Death.--Oh, _Mopsophil_, my cruel _Mopsophil_!

[_Pulls off his Hat, Sword and Shoes_.

And now, farewel the World, fond Love, and mortal Cares.

[_He falls to tickle himself, his Head, his Ears, his Armpits,

Hands, Sides, and Soles of his Feet; making ridiculous Cries

and Noises of Laughing several ways, with Antick Leaps and Skips,

at last falls down as dead.

Enter_ Scaramouch.

_Scar. Harlequin_ was left in the Garden, I’ll tell him the News

of _Mopsophil_. [Going forward, tumbles over him.

Ha, what’s here? _Harlequin_ dead!

[_Heaving him up, he flies into a Rage_.

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

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

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

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

_Har_. I know it, Sir, I know it, and that thou art as false as she:

Was’t not a Covenant between us, that neither shou’d take advantage of

the other, but both shou’d have fair play, and yet you basely went to

undermine me, and ask her of the Doctor; but since she’s gone, I scorn

to quarrel for her--But let’s like loving Brothers, hand in hand, leap

from some Precipice into the Sea.

_Scar_. What, and spoil all my Clothes? I thank you for that; no, I have

a newer way: you know I lodge four pair of Stairs high, let’s ascend

hither, and after saying our Prayers--

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

_Scar_. Well, I’ll not stand with you for a Trifle--Being come up, I’ll

open the Casement, take you by the Heels, and sling you out into the

Street; after which, you have no more to do, but to come up and throw me

down in my turn.

_Har_. The Atchievement’s great and new; but now I think on’t, I’m

resolv’d to hear my Sentence from the Mouth of the perfidious Trollop,

for yet I cannot credit it.

I’ll to the Gipsy, though I venture banging,

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

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE III. _The Chamber of_ Bellemante.

_Enter_ Scaramouch _groping_.

_Scar_. So, I have got rid of my Rival, and shall here get an

Opportunity to speak with _Mopsophil_; for hither she must come anon,

to lay the young Lady’s Night-things in order; I’ll hide my self in

some Corner till she come.

[_Goes on to the further side of the Stage_.

_Enter_ Harlequin _groping_.

_Har_. So, I made my Rival believe I was gone, and hid my self till I

got this Opportunity to steal to _Mopsophil’s_ Apartment, which must be

hereabouts; for from these Windows she us’d to entertain my Love.

[_Advances_.

_Scar_. Ha, I hear a soft Tread,--if it were _Mopsophil’s_, she wou’d

not come by dark.

[Harlequin _advancing runs against a Table, and almost

strikes himself backwards_.

_Har_. What was that?--a Table, there I may obscure my self.

[_Groping for the Table_.

What a Devil, is it vanish’d?

_Scar_. Devil,--vanish’d! What can this mean? ‘Tis a Man’s Voice.--If it

should be my Master the Doctor now, I were a dead Man;--he can’t see me;

and I’ll put my self into such a Posture, that if he feel me, he shall

as soon take me for a Church Spout as a Man.

[_He puts himself into a Posture ridiculous, his Arms a-kimbo,

his Knees wide open, his Backside almost touching the Ground,

his Mouth stretched wide, and Eyes staring_. Har. _groping

thrusts his Hand into his Mouth, he bites him, the other dares

not cry out_.

_Har_. Ha, what’s this? all Mouth, with twenty rows of Teeth.--Now dare

not I cry out, lest the Doctor shou’d come, find me here, and kill

me--I’ll try if it be mortal.

[_Making damnable Faces and signs of Pain, he draws a Dagger_. Scar.

_feels the Point of it, and shrinks back, letting go his Hand_.

_Scar_. Who the Devil can this be? I felt a Poniard, and am glad I sav’d

my Skin from pinking. [_Steals out_.

[Harlequin _groping about, finds the Table, on which

there is a Carpet, and creeps under it, listening_.

_Enter_ Bellemante, _with a Candle in one Hand,

and a Book in the other_.

_Bell_. I am in a _Belle_ Humor for Poetry to-night;

I’ll make some Boremes on Love. [_She writes and studies_.

_Out of a great Curiosity,--A Shepherd did demand of me_.--

No, no,--_A Shepherd this implor’d of me_.

[_Scratches out, and writes a-new_.

Ay, ay, so it shall go.--_Tell me, said he, can you resign?--

Resign_, ay, what shall rhyme to _Resign?--Tell me, said he_.--

[_She lays down the Tablets, and walks about_.

[Harlequin _peeps from under the Table, takes the Book,

writes in it, and lays it up before she can turn_.

[_Reads_.] Ay, ay, so it shall be,--_Tell me, said he, my_

Bellemante; _Will you be kind to your_ Charmante?

[_Reads those two lines, and is amaz’d_.

Ha, Heav’ns! What’s this? I am amaz’d!

--And yet I’ll venture once more. [_Writes and studies_.

--_I blushed and veil’d my wishing Eyes_.

[_Lays down the Book, and walks as before_.

--_Wishing Eyes_! [Har. _writes as before_.

[_She turns and takes the Tablet_.

--_And answer’d only with my Sighs_.

Ha! What is this? Witchcraft, or some Divinity of Love?

Some Cupid sure invisible.

Once more I’ll try the Charm. [_Writes_.

--Cou’d I a better way my Love impart?

[_Studies and walks_.

--_Impart_-- [_He writes as before_.

--_And without speaking, tell him all my Heart_.

--’Tis here again, but where’s the Hand that writ it?

[_Looks about_.

--The little Deity that will be seen

But only in his Miracles. It cannot be a Devil,

For here’s no Sin nor Mischief in all this.

_Enter_ Charmante. _She hides the Tablet, he steps

to her, and snatches it from her and reads_.

_Char_. reads.