A Shepherd this implor’d of me.
Tell me, said he, my_ Bellemante,
_Will you be kind to your_ Charmante?
_I blush’d, and veil’d my wishing Eyes,
And answer’d only with my Sighs.
Cou’d I a better way my Love impart?
And without speaking, tell him all my Heart_.
_Char_. Whose is this different Character? [_Looks angry_.
_Bell_. ‘Tis yours for ought I know.
_Char_. Away, my Name was put here for a blind.
What Rhiming Fop have you been clubbing Wit withal?
_Bell_. Ah! _mon Dieu!--Charmante_ jealous?
_Char_. Have I not cause?--Who writ these Boremes?
_Bell_. Some kind assisting Deity, for ought I know.
_Char_. Some kind assisting Coxcomb, that I know.
The Ink’s yet wet, the Spark is near I find.--
_Bell_. Ah, _Malheureuse_! How was I mistaken in this Man?
_Char_. Mistaken! What, did you take me for an easy Fool to be impos’d
upon?--One that wou’d be cuckolded by every feather’d Fool; that you’d
call a _Beau un Gallant Homme_. ‘Sdeath! Who wou’d doat upon a fond
She-Fop?--a vain conceited amorous Coquette.
[_Goes out, she pulls him back_.
_Enter_ Scaramouch _running_.
_Sea_. Oh Madam! hide your Lover, or we are all undone.
_Char_. I will not hide, till I know the thing that made the Verses.
[_The Doctor calling as on the Stairs_.
_Doct. Bellemante_, Niece,--_Bellemante_.
_Scar_. She’s coming, Sir.--Where, where shall I hide him?
--Oh, the Closet’s open!
[_Thrusts him into the Closet by force_.
_Enter_ Doctor.
_Doct_. Oh Niece! Ill Luck, Ill Luck, I must leave you to night; my
Brother the Advocate is sick, and has sent for me; ‘tis three long
Leagues, and dark as ‘tis, I must go.--They say he is dying. Here, take
my Keys, [_Pulls out his Keys, one falls down_.
and go into my Study, and look over all my Papers, and bring me all those
mark’d with a Cross and figure of Three, they concern my Brother and I.
[_She looks on_ Scaramouch, _and makes pitiful Signs, and goes out_.
--Come, _Scaramouch_, and get me ready for my Journey; and on your Life,
let not a Door be open’d till my Return.
[_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ Mopsophil. Har. _peeps from under the Table_.
_Har_. Ha! _Mopsophil_, and alone!
_Mop_. Well, ‘tis a delicious thing to be rich; what a world of Lovers
it invites: I have one for every Hand, and the Favorite for my Lips.
_Har_. Ay, him wou’d I be glad to know. [_Peeping_.
_Mop_. But of all my Lovers, I am for the Farmer’s Son, because he keeps
a Calash--and I’ll swear a Coach is the most agreeable thing about
a Man.
_Har_. Ho, ho!
_Mop_. Ah, me,--What’s that?
[_He answers in a shrill Voice_.
_Har_. The Ghost of a poor Lover, dwindled into a Heyho.
[_He rises from under the Table, and falls at her Feet_.
Scaramouch _enters. She runs off squeaking_.
_Scar_. Ha, My Rival and my Mistress!--Is this done like a Man of
Honour, Monsieur _Harlequin_, to take advantages to injure me? [_Draws_.
_Har_. Advantages are lawful in Love and War.
_Scar_. ‘Twas contrary to our League and Covenant; therefore I defy thee
as a Traytor.
_Har_. I scorn to fight with thee, because I once call’d thee Brother.
_Scar_. Then thou art a Poltroon, that’s to say, a Coward.
_Har_. Coward! nay, then I am provok’d, come on.
_Scar_. Pardon me, Sir, I gave the Coward, and you ought to strike.
[_They go to fight ridiculously, and ever as_ Scaramouch
_passes_, Harlequin _leaps aside, and skips so nimbly about,
he cannot touch him for his Life; which after a while
endeavouring in vain, he lays down his Sword_.
--If you be for dancing, Sir, I have my Weapons for all occasions.
[Scar. _pulls out a Flute Doux, and falls to playing_. Har.
_throws down his, and falls a dancing; after the Dance, they
shake hands_.
_Har_. _Ha mon bon ami_.--Is not this better than duelling?
_Scar_. But not altogether so heroick, Sir. Well, for the future, let us
have fair play; no Tricks to undermine each other, but which of us is
chosen to be the happy Man, the other shall be content.
_Ela_. [_Within_.] Cousin _Bellemante_, Cousin.
_Scar_. ‘Slife, let’s be gone, lest we be seen in the Ladies Apartment.
[Scar. _slips_ Harlequin _behind the Door_.
_Enter_ Elaria.
_Ela_. How now, how came you here?--
_Scar_. [_Signs to_ Har. _to go out_.] I came to tell you, Madam, my
Master’s just taking Mule to go his Journey to Night, and that Don
_Cinthio_ is in the Street, for a lucky moment to enter in.
_Ela_. But what if any one by my Father’s Order, or he himself should by
some chance surprize us?
_Scar_. If we be, I have taken order against a Discovery. I’ll go see if
the old Gentleman be gone, and return with your Lover.
[_Goes out_.
_Ela_. I tremble, but know not whether ‘tis with Fear or Joy.
_Enter_ Cinthio.
_Cin_. My dear _Elaria_--
[_Runs to imbrace her, She starts from him_.
--Ha,--shun my Arms, _Elaria_!
_Ela_. Heavens! Why did you come so soon?
_Cin_. Is it too soon, whene’er ‘tis safe, _Elaria_?
_Ela_. I die with Fear--Met you not _Scaramouch_? He went to bid you
wait a while; what shall I do?
_Cin_. Why this Concern? none of the House has seen me. I saw your
Father taking Horse.
_Ela_. Sure you mistake, methinks I hear his Voice.
_Doct_. [_Below_.]--My Key--The Key of my Laboratory.
Why, Knave _Scaramouch_, where are you?
_Ela_. Do you hear that, Sir?--Oh, I’m undone!
Where shall I hide you?--He approaches.
[_She searches where to hide him_.
Ha! my Cousin’s Closet’s open,--step in a little.
[_He goes in, she puts out the Candle_.
_Enter the_ Doctor. _She gets round the Chamber to the
Door, and as he advances in, she steals out_.
_Doct_. Here I must have dropt it; a Light, a Light there.
_Enter_ Cinthio, _from the Closet, pulls_ Charmante
_out, they not knowing each other_.
_Cin_. Oh, this perfidious Woman! No marvel she was so surpriz’d and
angry at my Approach to Night.
_Cha_. Who can this be?--but I’ll be prepar’d.
[_Lays his Hand on his Sword_.
_Doct_. Why, _Scaramouch_, Knave, a Light!
[_Turns to the Door to call_.
_Enter_ Scaramouch _with a Light, and seeing the two Lovers
there, runs against his Master, puts out the Candle, and
flings him down and falls over him. At the entrance of the
Candle_, Charmante _slipt from_ Cinthio _into the Closet_.
Cinthio _gropes to find him; when_ Mopsophil _and_ Elaria,
_hearing a great Noise, enter with a Light_. Cinthio _finding
he was discovered falls to acting a Mad-man, _Scaramouch
_helps up the Doctor, and bows_.
Ha,--a Man,--and in my House,--Oh dire Misfortune!
--Who are you, Sir?
_Cin_. Men call me _Gog Magog_, the Spirit of Power;
My Right-hand Riches holds, my Left-hand Honour.
Is there a City Wife wou’d be a Lady?--Bring her to me,
Her easy Cuckold shall be dubb’d a Knight.
_Ela_. Oh Heavens! a Mad-man, Sir.
_Cin_. Is there a tawdry Fop wou’d have a Title?
A rich Mechanick that wou’d be an Alderman?
Bring ‘em to me,
And I’ll convert that Coxcomb, and that Blockhead, into Your Honour
and Right-Worshipful.
_Doct_. Mad, stark mad! Why, Sirrah, Rogue--_Scaramouch_
--How got this Mad-man in?
[_While the_ Doctor _turns to_ Scaramouch, Cinthio
_speaks softly to_ Elaria.
_Cin_. Oh, thou perfidious Maid! Who hast thou hid in yonder conscious
Closet? [_Aside to her_.
_Scar_. Why, Sir, he was brought in a Chair for your Advice; but how he
rambled from the Parlour to this Chamber, I know not.
_Cin_. Upon a winged Horse, ycleped _Pegasus_, Swift as the fiery Racers
of the Sun,--I fly--I fly--See how I mount, and cut the liquid Sky.
[_Runs out_.
_Doct_. Alas, poor Gentleman, he’s past all Cure.--But, Sirrah, for the
future, take you care that no young mad Patients be brought into my
House.
_Scar_. I shall, Sir,--and see,--here’s your Key you look’d for.
_Doct_. That’s well; I must be gone--Bar up the Doors, and upon Life or
Death let no man enter.
[_Exit_ Doctor, _and all with him, with the Light_.
Charmante _peeps out--and by degrees comes all out,
listning every step_.
_Char_. Who the Devil cou’d that be that pull’d me from the Closet? but
at last I’m free, and the Doctor’s gone; I’ll to _Cinthio_, and bring
him to pass this Night with our Mistresses.
[_Exit_.
_As he is gone off, enter_ Cinthio _groping_.
_Cin_. Now for this lucky Rival, if his Stars will make this last part
of his Adventure such. I hid my self in the next Chamber, till I heard
the Doctor go, only to return to be reveng’d.
[_He gropes his way into the Closet, with his Sword drawn_.
_Enter_ Elaria _with a Light_.
_Ela_. _Scaramouch_ tells me _Charmante_ is conceal’d in the Closet,
whom _Cinthio_ surely has mistaken for some Lover of mine, and is
jealous; but I’ll send _Charmante_ after him, to make my peace and
undeceive him. [_Goes to the Door_.
--Sir, Sir, where are you? they are all gone, you may adventure out.
[Cinthio _comes out_.
Ha,--_Cinthio_ here?
_Cin_. Yes, Madam, to your shame:
Now your Perfidiousness is plain, false Woman,
’.is well your Lover had the dexterity of escaping, I’ad spoil’d his
making Love else. [_Goes from her, she holds him_.
_Ela_. Prithee hear me.
_Cin_. But since my Ignorance of his Person saves his Life, live and
possess him, till I can discover him. [_Goes out_.
_Ela_. Go, peevish Fool--
Whose Jealousy believes me given to change,
Let thy own Torments be my just Revenge.
[_Exit_.
_The End of the First Act_.
ACT II.
SCENE I. _A Chamber in the_ Doctor’s _House_.
_An Antick Dance_.
_After the Musick has plaid, enter_ Elaria; _to her_ Bellemante.
_Ela_. Heavens, _Bellemante_! Where have you been?
_Bell_. Fatigu’d with the most disagreeable Affair, for a Person of my
Humour, in the World. Oh, how I hate Business, which I do no more mind,
than a Spark does the Sermon, who is ogling his Mistress at Church all
the while: I have been ruffling over twenty Reams of Paper for my
Uncle’s Writings.
_Enter_ Scaramouch.
_Scar_. So, so, the old Gentleman is departed this wicked World, and the
House is our own for this Night.--Where are the Sparks? where are the
Sparks?
_Ela_. Nay, Heaven knows.
_Bell_. How! I hope not so; I left _Charmante_ confin’d to my Closet,
when my Uncle had like to have surpriz’d us together: Is he not here?
_Ela_. No, he’s escap’d, but he has made sweet doings.
_Bell_. Heavens, Cousin! What?
_Ela_. My Father was coming into the Chamber, and had like to have taken
_Cinthio_ with me, when, to conceal him, I put him into your Closet, not
knowing of _Charmante’s_ being there, and which, in the dark, he took
for a Gallant of mine; had not my Father’s Presence hinder’d, I believe
there had been Murder committed; however they both escap’d unknown.
_Scar_. Pshaw, is that all? Lovers Quarrels are soon Adjusted; I’ll to
’.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 all are prepar’d.
[_Exit_.
_Enter_ Mopsophil.
_Mop_. Madam, your Cousin _Florinda_, with a Lady, are 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 II. _Changes to the Street_.
_Enter Page with a Flambeaux, followed by_ Cinthio; _passes over
the Stage_. Scaramouch _follows_ Cinthio _in a Campaign Coat_.
_Scar_. ‘Tis _Cinthio_--Don _Cinthio_. [_Calls, he turns_.
Well, what’s the Quarrel?--How fell ye out?
_Cin_. You may inform your self I believe, for these close Intrigues
cannot be carried on without your Knowledge.
_Scar_. What Intrigues, Sir? be quick, for I’m in haste.
_Cin_. Who was the Lover I surpriz’d i’th’ Closet?
_Scar. Deceptio visus_, Sir; the Error of the Eyes.
_Cin_. Thou Dog, I felt him too; but since the Rascal ‘scaped me,
I’ll be reveng’d on thee.
[_Goes to beat him; he running away, runs against_
Harlequin, _who is entering with_ Charmante, _and
like to have thrown ‘em both down_.
_Char_. Ha,--What’s the matter here?
_Scar_. Seignior Don _Charmante_.
[_Then he struts courageously in with ‘em_.
_Char_. What, _Cinthio_ in a Rage!
Who’s the unlucky Object?
_Cin_. All Man and Woman Kind: _Elaria’s_ false.
_Char. Elaria_ false! take heed, sure her nice Virtue
Is proof against the Vices of her Sex.
Say rather _Bellemante_,
She who by Nature’s light and wavering.
The Town contains not such a false Impertinent.
This Evening I surpriz’d her in her Chamber,
Writing of Verses, and between her Lines
Some Spark had newly pen’d his proper Stuff.
Curse of the Jilt, I’ll be her Fool no more.
_Har_. I doubt you are mistaken in that, Sir, for ‘twas
I was the Spark that writ the proper Stuff
To do you service.
_Char_. Thou!
_Scar_. Ay, we that spend our Lives and Fortunes here to serve you,--to
be us’d like Pimps and Scoundrels. Come, Sir, satisfy him who ‘twas was
hid i’th’ Closet, when he came in and found you.
_Cin_. Ha,--is’t possible? Was it _Charmante_?
_Char_. Was it you, _Cinthio_? Pox on’t, what Fools are we, we cou’d not
know one another by Instinct?
_Scar_. Well, well, dispute no more this clear Case, but let’s hasten to
your Mistresses.
_Cin_. I’m asham’d to appear before _Elaria_.
_Char_. And I to _Bellemante_.
_Scar_. Come, come, take Heart of Grace; pull your Hats down over your
Eyes; put your Arms across; sigh and look scurvily; your simple Looks
are ever a Token of Repentance: come--come along.
[_Exeunt Omnes_.
SCENE III. _Changes to the Inside of the House. The Front of the Scene
is only a Curtain or Hangings, to be drawn up at Pleasure_.
_Enter_ Elaria, Bellemante, Mopsophil, Florinda, _and Ladies,
dress’d in Masking Habits_.
_Ela_. I am extremely pleas’d with these Habits, Cousin.
_Bell_. They are _à la Gothic_ and _Uncommune_.
_Flor_. Your Lovers have a very good Fancy, Cousin, I long to see ‘em.
_Ela_. And so do I. I wonder _Scaramouch_ stays so, and what Success
he has.
_Bell_. You have no cause to doubt, you can so easily acquit your self;
but I, what shall I do? who can no more imagine who shou’d write those
Boremes, than who I shall love next, if I break off with _Charmante_.
_Flor_. If he be a Man of Honour, Cousin, when a Maid protests her
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
obstinate, they wou’d damn a Woman with Protesting, before she can
convince ‘em.
_Ela_. Such a one is not worth convincing, I wou’d not make the World
wise at the expence of a Virtue.
_Bell_. Nay, he shall e’en remain as Heaven made him for me, since there
are Men enough for all uses.
_Enter_ Charmante _and_ Cinthio, _dress’d in their Gothic Habits_,
Scaramouch, Harlequin _and Musick_. Charmante _and_ Cinthio _kneel_.
_Cin_. Can you forgive us?
[Elaria _takes him up_.
_Bell_. That, _Cinthio_, you’re convinc’d, I do not wonder; but how
_Charmante_ is inspir’d, I know not.
[_Takes him up_.
_Char_. Let it suffice, I’m satisfy’d, my _Bellemante_.
_Ela_. Pray know my Cousin _Florinda_.
[_They salute the Lady_.
_Bell_. Come, let us not lose time, since we are all Friends.
_Char_. The best use we can make of it, is to talk of Love.
_Bell_. Oh! we shall have time enough for that hereafter; besides, you
may make Love in Dancing as well as in Sitting; you may gaze, sigh, and
press the Hand, and now and then receive a Kiss, what wou’d you more?
_Char_. Yes, wish a little more.
_Bell_. We were unreasonable to forbid you that cold Joy, nor shall you
wish long in vain, if you bring Matters so about, to get us with my
Uncle’s Consent.
_Ela_. Our Fortunes depending solely on his Pleasure, which are too
considerable to lose.
_Cin_. All things are order’d as I have written you at large; our Scenes
and all our Properties are ready; we have no more to do but to banter
the old Gentleman into a little more Faith, which the next Visit of our
new Cabalist _Charmante_ will complete.
[_The Musick plays_.
_Enter some Anticks, and dance. They all sit the while_.
_Ela_. Your Dancers have performed well, but ‘twere fit we knew who we
have trusted with this Evening’s Intrigue.
_Cin_. Those, Madam, who are to assist us in carrying on a greater
Intrigue, the gaining of you. They are our Kinsmen.
_Ela_. Then they are doubly welcome.
[_Here is a Song in Dialogue, with Flute Doux and Harpsicals,
between a Shepherd and Shepherdess; which ended, they all dance
a Figure Dance_.
_Cin_. Hark, what Noise is that? sure ‘tis in the next Room.
_Doctor [Within.] Scaramouch, Scaramouch_!
[Scaramouch _runs to the Door, and holds it fast_.
_Scar_. Ha,--the Devil in the likeness of my old Master’s Voice, for it
is impossible it should be he himself.
_Char_. If it be he, how got he in? did you not secure the Doors?
_Ela_. He always has a Key to open ‘em. Oh! what shall we do? there’s no
escaping him; he’s in the next Room, through which you are to pass.
_Doct. [Within.] Scaramouch_, Knave, where are you?
_Scar_. ‘Tis he, ‘tis he, follow me all--
[_He goes with all the Company behind the Front Curtain_.
_Doct. [Within.]_ I tell you, Sirrah, I heard the noise of Fiddles.
_Peter. [_Within.]_ No surely, Sir, ‘twas a Mistake.
[_Knocking at the Door_.
[Scaramouch _having placed them all in the Hanging, in which they
make the Figures, where they stand without Motion in Postures, he
comes out. He opens the Door with a Candle in his Hand_.
_Enter the_ Doctor _and_ Peter _with a Light_.
_Scar_. Bless me, Sir! Is it you--or your Ghost?
_Doct_. ‘Twere good for you, Sir, if I were a thing of Air; but as I am
a substantial Mortal, I will lay it on as substantially--
[_Canes him. He cries_.
_Scar_. What d’ye mean, Sir? what d’ye mean?
_Doct_. Sirrah, must I stand waiting your Leisure, while you are roguing
here? I will reward ye. [_Beats him_.
_Scar_. Ay, and I shall deserve it richly, Sir, when you know all.
_Doct_. I guess all, Sirrah, and I heard all, and you shall be rewarded
for all. Where have you hid the Fiddles, you Rogue?
_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir!
_Doct_. Ay, Fiddles, Knave.
_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir!--Where?
_Doct_. Here, here I heard ‘em, thou false Steward of thy Master’s
Treasure.
_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir! Sure ‘twas Wind got into your Head, and whistled
in your Ears, riding so late, Sir.
_Doct_. Ay, thou false Varlet, there’s another debt I owe thee, for
bringing me so damnable a Lye: my Brother’s well--I met his Valet but a
League from Town, and found thy Roguery out. [_Beats him. He cries_.
_Scar_. Is this the Reward I have for being so diligent since you went?
_Doct_. In what, thou Villain? in what?
[_The Curtain is drawn up, and discovers the Hangings where
all of them stand_.
_Scar_. Why, look you, Sir, I have, to surprize you with Pleasure,
against you came home, been putting up this Piece of Tapestry, the best
in Italy, for the Rareness of the Figures, Sir.
_Doct_. Ha! hum--It is indeed a Stately Piece of Work; how came I by ‘em?
_Scar_. ‘Twas sent your Reverence from the _Virtuoso_, or some of the
Cabalists.
_Doct_. I must confess, the Workmanship is excellent;--but still I do
insist I heard the Musick.
_Scar_. ‘Twas then the tuning of the Spheres, some Serenade, Sir, from
the Inhabitants of the Moon.
_Doct_. Hum, from the Moon,--and that may be.
_Scar_. Lord, d’ye think I wou’d deceive your Reverence?
_Doct_. From the Moon, a Serenade,--I see no signs on’t here, indeed it
must be so--I’ll think on’t more at leisure. [_Aside_.
--Prithee what Story’s this? [_Looks on the Hangings_.
_Scar_. Why, Sir,--’Tis--
_Doct_. Hold up the Candles higher, and nearer.
[Peter _and_ Scaramouch _hold Candles near. He takes a Perspective,
and looks through it; and coming nearer_ Harlequin, _who is placed
on a Tree in the Hangings, hits him on the Head with his Trunchion.
He starts and looks about_. Harlequin _sits still.
_Scar_. Sir--
_Doct_. What was that struck me?
_Scar_. Struck you, Sir! Imagination.
_Doct_. Can my Imagination feel, Sirrah?
_Scar_. Oh, the most tenderly of any part about one, Sir!
_Doct_. Hum--that may be.
_Scar_. Are you a great Philosopher, and know not that, Sir?
_Doct_. This Fellow has a glimpse of Profundity. [_Aside. Looks again_.
--I like the Figures well.
_Scar_. You will, when you see ‘em by Day-light, Sir.
[Har. _hits him again. The_ Doctor _sees him_.
_Doct_. Ha,--Is that Imagination too?--Betray’d, betray’d, undone! run
for my Pistols, call up my Servants, _Peter_, a Plot upon my Daughter
and my Niece!
[_Runs out with_ Peter. Scaramouch _puts out the Candle,
they come out of the Hanging, which is drawn away. He places
‘em in a Row just at the Entrance_.
_Scar_. Here, here, fear nothing, hold by each other, that when I go
out, all may go; that is, slip out, when you hear the Doctor is come
in again, which he will certainly do, and all depart to your respective
Lodgings.
_Cin_. And leave thee to bear the Brunt?
_Scar_. Take you no care for that, I’ll put it into my Bill of Charges,
and be paid all together.
_Enter the_ Doctor _with Pistols, and_ Peter.
_Doct_. What, by dark? that shall not save you, Villains, Traitors to my
Glory and Repose.--_Peter_, hold fast the Door, let none ‘scape.
[_They all slip out_.
_Pet_. I’ll warrant you, Sir.
[Doctor _gropes about, stamps and calls_.
_Doct_. Lights there--Lights--I’m sure they cou’d not ‘scape.
_Pet_. Impossible, Sir.
_Enter_ Scaramouch _undress’d in his Shirt, with a Light; he starts_.
_Scar_. Bless me!--what’s here?
_Doct_. Ha--Who art thou? [_Amaz’d to see him enter so_.
_Scar_. I, who the Devil are you, and you go to that?
[_Rubs his Eyes, and brings the Candle nearer, looks on him_.
--Mercy upon us!--Why, what, is’t you, Sir, return’d so soon?
_Doct_. Return’d! [_Looking sometimes on him, sometimes about_.
_Scar_. Ay, Sir, did you not go out of Town last night, to your Brother
the Advocate?
_Doct_. Thou Villain, thou question’st me, as if thou knew’st not that I
was return’d.
_Scar_. I know, Sir! how shou’d I know? I’m sure I am but just awakened
from the sweetest Dream.--
_Doct_. You dream still, Sirrah, but I shall wake your Rogueship.--Were
you not here but now, shewing me a piece of Tapestry, you Villain?
_Scar_. Tapestry!
[Mopsophil _listning all the while_.
_Doct_. Yes, Rogue, yes, for which I’ll have thy Life.
[_Offering a Pistol_.
_Scar_. Are you stark mad, Sir? or do I dream still?
_Doct_. Tell me, and tell me quickly, Rogue, who were those Traitors
that were hid but now in the Disguise of a piece of Hangings.
[_Holds the Pistol to his Breast_.
_Scar_. Bless me! you amaze me, Sir. What conformity has every Word you
say, to my rare Dream! Pray let me feel you, Sir,--Are you human?
_Doct_. You shall feel I am, Sirrah, if thou confess not.
_Scar_. Confess, Sir! What shall I confess?--I understand not your
Cabalistical Language; but in mine, I confess that you wak’d me from the
rarest Dream--Where methought the Emperor of the Moon World was in our
House, dancing and revelling; and methoughts his Grace was fallen
desperately in love with Mistriss _Elaria_, and that his Brother, the
Prince, Sir, of _Thunderland_, was also in love with Mistriss
_Bellemante_; and methoughts they descended to court ‘em in your
Absence--And that at last you surpriz’d ‘em, and that they transform’d
themselves into a Suit of Hangings to deceive you. But at last,
methought you grew angry at something, and they all fled to Heaven
again; and after a deal of Thunder and Lightning, I wak’d, Sir, and
hearing human Voices here, came to see what the Matter was.
[_This while the_ Doctor _lessens his signs of Rage by degrees,
and at last stands in deep Contemplation_.
_Doct_. May I credit this?
_Scar_. Credit it! By all the Honour of your House, by my unseparable
Veneration for the Mathematicks, ‘tis true, Sir.
_Doct_. That famous _Rosycrusian_, who yesterday visited me, and told me
the Emperor of the Moon was in love with a fair Mortal--This Dream is
Inspiration in this Fellow--He must have wondrous Virtue in him, to be
worthy of these divine Intelligences. [_Aside_.--But if that Mortal
shou’d be _Elaria_! but no more, I dare not yet suppose it--perhaps the
thing was real and no Dream, for oftentimes the grosser part is hurried
away in Sleep by the force of Imagination, and is wonderfully agitated
--This Fellow might be present in his Sleep,--of this we’ve frequent
Instances--I’ll to my Daughter and my Niece, and hear what Knowledge
they may have of this.
_Mop_. Will you so? I’ll secure you, the Frolick shall go round.
[_Aside, and Exit_.
_Doct. Scaramouch_, if you have not deceiv’d me in this Matter, time
will convince me farther; if it rest here, I shall believe you false.
_Scar_. Good Sir, suspend your Judgment and your Anger till then.
_Doct_. I’ll do’t, go back to bed.
[_Ex_. Doct. _and_ Peter.
_Scar_. No, Sir, ‘tis Morning now--and I’m up for all day.--This Madness
is a pretty sort of pleasant Disease, when it tickles but in one
Vein--Why, here’s my Master now, as great a Scholar, as grave and wise a
Man, in all Argument and Discourse, as can be met with; yet name but the
Moon, and he runs into ridicule, and grows as mad as the Wind.
Well, Doctor, if thou canst be madder yet,
We’ll find a Medicine that shall cure your Fit,
--Better than all _Galenicus_.
[_Goes out_.
SCENE IV. _Draws off to_ Bellemante’s _Chamber, discovers_ Elaria,
Bellemante _and_ Mopsophil _in Night-Gowns_.
_Mop_. You have your Lessons, stand to it bravely, and the Town’s our
own, Madam.
[_They put themselves in Postures of Sleeping, leaning on the
Table_, Mopsophil _lying at their Feet. Enter_ Doctor _softly_.
_Doct_. Ha, not in Bed! this gives me mortal Fears.
_Bell_. Ah, Prince-- [_She speaks as in her Sleep_.
_Doct_. Ha, Prince! [_Goes nearer, and listens_.
_Bell_. How little Faith I give to all your Courtship, who leaves our
Orb so soon. [_In a feign’d Voice_.
_Doct_. Ha, said she Orb? [_Goes nearer_.
_Bell_. But since you are of a celestial Race,
And easily can penetrate
Into the utmost limits of the Thought,
Why shou’d I fear to tell you of your Conquest?
--And thus implore your Aid.
[_Rises and runs to the_ Doctor; _kneels,
and holds him fast. He shews signs of Joy_.
_Doct_. I am ravish’d!
_Bell_. Ah, Prince Divine, take pity on a Mortal.
_Doct_. I am rapt!
_Bell_. And take me with you to the World above!
_Doct_. The Moon, the Moon she means; I am transported, over-joy’d, and
ecstasyd!
[_Leaping and jumping from her Hands, she seems to wake_.
_Bell_. Ha, my Uncle come again to interrupt us!
_Doct_. Hide nothing from me, my dear _Bellemante_, since all already is
discover’d to me--and more.
_Ela_. Oh, why have you wak’d me from the softest Dream that ever Maid
was blest with?
_Doct_. What--what, my best _Elaria_? [_With over-joy_.
_Ela_. Methought I entertain’d a Demi-God, one of the gay Inhabitants of
the Moon.
_Bell_. I’m sure mine was no Dream--I wak’d, I heard, I saw, I
spoke--and danc’d to the Musick of the Spheres; and methought my
glorious Lover ty’d a Diamond Chain about my Arm--and see ‘tis all
substantial. [_Shows her Arm_.
_Ela_. And mine a Ring, of more than mortal Lustre.
_Doct_. Heaven keep me moderate! lest excess of Joy shou’d make my
Virtue less. [_Stifling his Joy_.
--There is a wondrous Mystery in this,
A mighty Blessing does attend your Fates.
Go in and pray to the chaste Powers above
To give you Virtue for such Rewards. [_They go in_.
--How this agrees with what the learned Cabalist inform’d me of last
Night! He said, that great _Iredonozor_, the Emperor of the Moon, was
enamour’d on a fair Mortal. It must be so--and either he descended to
court my Daughter personally, which for the rareness of the Novelty,
she takes to be a Dream; or else, what they and I beheld, was visionary,
by way of a sublime Intelligence:--And possibly--’tis only thus: the
People of that World converse with Mortals.--I must be satisfy’d in this
main Point of deep Philosophy.
I’ll to my Study,--for I cannot rest,
Till I this weighty Mystery have discuss’d.
[_Ex. very gravely_.
SCENE V. _The Garden_.
_Enter_ Scaramouch _with a Ladder_.
_Scar_. Though I am come off _en Cavalier_ with my Master, I am not with
my Mistress, whom I promised to console this Night, and ‘tis but just I
shou’d make good this Morning; ‘twill be rude to surprize her sleeping,
and more gallant to wake her with a Serenade at her Window.
[_Sets the Ladder to her Window, fetches his Lute and goes
up the ladder_.
He plays and sings this Song.
_When Maidens are young and in their Spring
Of Pleasure, of Pleasure, let ‘em take their full Swing,
full Swing,--full Swing,
And love, and dance, and play, and sing.
For_ Silvia, _believe it, when Youth is done,
There’s nought but hum drum, hum drum, hum drum;
There’s nought but hum drum, hum drum, hum drum.
Then_ Silvia _be wise--be wise--be wise,
Though Painting and Dressing for awhile are Supplies,
And may--surprise--
But when the Fire’s going out in your Eyes,
It twinkles, it twinkles, it twinkles, and dies.
And then to hear Love, to hear Love from you,
I’d as live hear an Owl cry--Wit to woo,
Wit to woo, wit to woo_.
_Enter _Mopsophil_ above_.
_Mop_. What woful Ditty-making Mortal’s this,
That e’er the Lark her early Note has sung,
Does doleful Love beneath my Casement thrum?
-Ah, Seignior _Scaramouch_, is it you?
_Scar_. Who shou’d it be that takes such pains to sue!
_Mop_. Ah, Lover most true blue.
_Enter_ Harlequin _in Woman’s Clothes_.
_Har_. If I can now but get admittance, I shall not only deliver the
young Ladies their Letters from their Lovers, but get some opportunity,
in this Disguise, to slip this _Billet-Doux_ into _Mopsophil’s_ Hand,
and bob my Comrade _Scaramouch_.--Ha, What do I see?--My Mistress at the
Window, courting my Rival! Ah Gipsy!
_Scar_. But we lose precious time, since you design me a kind Hour in
your Chamber.
_Har_. Oh Traitor!
_Mop_. You’ll be sure to keep it from _Harlequin_.
_Har_. Ah yes, he, hang him, Fool, he takes you for a Saint.
_Scar. Harlequin_! Hang him, shotten Herring.
_Har_. Ay, a Cully, a Noddy.
_Mop_. A meer Zany.
_Har_. Ah, hard-hearted _Turk_.
_Mop_. Fit for nothing but a Cuckold.
_Har_. Monster of Ingratitude! How shall I be reveng’d?
[_Scar, going over the Balcony_.
--Hold, hold, thou perjur’d Traitor.
[_Cries out in a Woman’s Voice_.
_Mop_. Ha, discover’d!--A Woman in the Garden!
_Har_. Come down, come down, thou false perfidious Wretch.
_Scar_. Who in the Devil’s Name, art thou? And to whom dost thou speak?
_Har_. To thee, that false Deceiver, thou hast broke thy Vows, thy
lawful Vows of Wedlock. [_Bawling out_.
Oh, oh, that I shou’d live to see the Day. [_Crying_.
_Scar_. Who mean you, Woman?
_Har_. Whom shou’d I mean but thou,--my lawful Spouse?
_Mop_. Oh Villain! Lawful Spouse!--Let me come to her.
[Scar, _comes down, as_ Mopsophil _flings out of the Balcony_.
_Scar_. The Woman’s mad--hark ye, Jade, how long have you been thus
distracted?
_Har_. E’er since I lov’d and trusted thee, false Varlet.--See here, the
Witness of my Love and Shame.
[_Bawls, and points to her Belly.
Just then_ Mopsophil _enters_.
_Mop_. How! with Child! Out, Villain! was I made a Property?
_Scar_. Hear me.
_Har_. Oh, thou Heathen Christian! was not one Woman enough?
_Mop_. Ay, Sirrah, answer to that.
_Scar_. I shall be sacrific’d.
_Mop_. I am resolv’d to marry to morrow--either to the Apothecary or the
Farmer, Men I never saw, to be reveng’d on thee, thou termagant Infidel.
_Enter the_ Doctor.
_Doct_. What Noise, what Out-cry, what Tumult’s this?
_Har_. Ha, the Doctor!--What shall I do?
[_Gets to the Door_, Scar. _pulls her in_.
_Doct_. A Woman! some Baud I am sure;--Woman, what’s your Business here?
ha.
_Har_. I came, an’t like your Seigniorship, to Madam the Governante here,
to serve her in the Quality of a _Fille de Chambre_ to the young Ladies.
_Doct_. A _Fille de Chambre_! ‘tis so, a she Pimp.
_Har_. Ah, Seignior--
[_Makes his little dapper Leg, instead of a Curt’sy_.
_Doct_. How now, what, do you mock me?
_Har_. Oh Seignior! [_Gets nearer the Door_.
_Mop_. Stay, stay, Mistress; and what Service are you able to do the
Seignior’s Daughters?
_Har_. Is this Seignior Doctor _Baliardo_, Madam?
_Mop_. Yes.
_Har_. Oh! he’s a very handsome Gentleman--indeed.
_Doct_. Ay, ay, what Service can you do, Mistress?
_Har_. Why, Seignior, I can tie a Crevat the best of any Person in
_Naples_, and I can comb a Periwig--and I can--
_Doct_. Very proper Service for young Ladies; you, I believe, have been
_Fille de Chambre_ to some young Cavaliers?
_Har_. Most true, Seignior; why shou’d not the Cavaliers keep _Filles de
Chambre_, as well as great Ladies _Valets de Chambre_?
_Doct_. Indeed ‘tis equally reasonable.--’Tis a Baud. [_Aside_.
But have you never serv’d Ladies?
_Har_. Oh yes, I serv’d a Parson’s Wife?
_Doct_. Is that a great Lady?
_Har_. Ay, surely, Sir, what is she else? for she wore her Mantuas of
_Brocade d’or_, Petticoats lac’d up to the Gathers, her Points, her
Patches, Paints and Perfumes, and sat in the uppermost place in the
Church too.
_Mop_. But have you never serv’d Countesses and Dutchesses?
_Har_. Oh, yes, Madam; the last I serv’d, was an Alderman’s Wife in the
City.
_Mop_. Was that a Countess or a Dutchess?
_Har_. Ay, certainly--for they have all the Money; and then for Clothes,
Jewels, and rich Furniture, and eating, they out-do the very _Vice-Reine_
her self.
_Doct_. This is a very ignorant running Baud,--therefore first search
her for _Billets-Doux_, and then have her pump’d.
_Har_. Ah, Seignior,--Seignior.
[Scar. _searches him, finds Letters_.
_Scar_. Ha, to _Elaria_--and _Bellemante_!
[_Reads the Outside, pops ‘em into his Bosom_.
These are from their Lovers.--Ha, a Note to _Mopsophil_.--Oh, Rogue!
have I found you?
_Har_. If you have, ‘tis but Trick for your Trick, Seignior _Scaramouch_,
and you may spare the Pumping.
_Scar_. For once, Sirrah, I’ll bring you off, and deliver your Letters.
--Sir, do you not know who this is? Why, ‘tis a Rival of mine, who put
on this Disguise to cheat me of Mistress _Mopsophil_.--See, here’s a
Billet to her.
_Doct_. What is he?
_Scar_. A Mungrel Dancing-Master; therefore, Sir, since all the Injury’s
mine, I’ll pardon him for a Dance, and let the Agility of his Heels save
his Bones, with your Permission, Sir.
_Doct_. With all my Heart, and am glad he comes off so comically.
[Harlequin _dances_.
[_A knocking at the Gate_. Scar. _goes and returns_.
_Scar_. Sir, Sir, here’s the rare Philosopher who was here yesterday.
_Doct_. Give him Entrance, and all depart.
_Enter_ Charmante.
_Char_. Blest be those Stars that first conducted me to so much Worth
and Virtue; you are their Darling, Sir, for whom they wear their
brightest Lustre. Your Fortune is establish’d, you are made, Sir.
_Doct_. Let me contain my Joy. [_Keeping in an impatient Joy_.
--May I be worthy, Sir, to apprehend you?
_Char_. After long searching, watching, fasting, praying, and using all
the virtuous means in Nature, whereby we solely do attain the highest
Knowledge in Philosophy; it was resolv’d, by strong Intelligence--you
were the happy Sire of that bright Nymph, that had infascinated,
charm’d, and conquer’d the mighty Emperor _Iredonozor_, the Monarch
of the Moon.
_Doct_. I am undone with Joy! ruin’d with Transport. [_Aside_.
--Can it--can it, Sir,--be possible?
[_Stifling his Joy, which breaks out_.
_Char_. Receive the Blessing, Sir, with Moderation.
_Doct_. I do, Sir, I do.
_Char_. This very Night, by their great Art, they find,
He will descend, and shew himself in Glory.
An Honour, Sir, no Mortal has receiv’d
This sixty hundred years.
_Doct_. Hum--say you so, Sir; no Emperor ever descend this sixty hundred
years? [_Looks sad_.
--Was I deceiv’d last Night? [_Aside_.
_Char_. Oh! yes, Sir, often in Disguise, in several Shapes and Forms,
which did of old occasion so many fabulous Tales of all the Shapes of
_Jupiter_--but never in their proper Glory, Sir, as Emperors. This is an
Honour only design’d to you.
_Doct_. And will his Grace--be here in Person, Sir? [_Joyful_.
_Char_. In Person--and with him, a Man of mighty Quality, Sir, ‘tis
thought, the Prince of _Thunderland_--but that’s but whisper’d, Sir, in
the Cabal, and that he loves your Niece.
_Doct_. Miraculous! how this agrees with all I’ve seen and heard
--To Night, say you, Sir?
_Char_. So ‘tis conjectur’d, Sir,--some of the Cabalists are of opinion,
that last Night there was some Sally from the Moon.
_Doct_. About what Hour, Sir?
_Char_. The Meridian of the Night, Sir, about the Hours of Twelve or
One; but who descended, or in what Shape, is yet uncertain.
_Doct_. This I believe, Sir.
_Char_. Why, Sir?
_Doct_. May I communicate a Secret of that nature?
_Char_. To any of the Cabalists, but none else.
_Doct_. Then know--last Night, my Daughter and my Niece were entertain’d
by those illustrious Heroes.
_Char_. Who, Sir, the Emperor, and Prince his Cousin?
_Doct_. Most certain, Sir. But whether they appear’d in solid Bodies, or
Fantomical, is yet a Question; for at my unlucky approach, they all
transform’d themselves into a Piece of Hangings.
_Char_. ‘Tis frequent, Sir, their Shapes are numerous; and ‘tis also in
their power to transform all they touch, by virtue of a certain Stone
they call the _Ebula_.
_Doct_. That wondrous _Ebula_, which _Gonzales_ had?
_Char_. The same, by virtue of which, all Weight was taken from him, and
then with ease the lofty Traveller flew from _Parnassus Hill_, and from
_Hymethus Mount_, and high _Gerania_, and _Acrocorinthus_, thence to
_Taygetus_, so to _Olympus_ Top, from whence he had but one step to the
Moon. Dizzy he grants he was.
_Doct_. No wonder, Sir, Oh happy great _Gonzales_!
_Char_. Your Virtue, Sir, will render you as happy--but I must haste--
this Night prepare your Daughter and your Niece, and let your House be
dress’d, perfum’d, and clean.
_Doct_. It shall be all perform’d, Sir.
_Char_. Be modest, Sir, and humble in your Elevation; for nothing shews
the Wit so poor, as Wonder, nor Birth so mean, as Pride.
_Doct_. I humbly thank your Admonition, Sir, and shall, in all I can,
struggle with human Frailty.
[_Brings_ Char. _to the Door bare. Exeunt_.
_Enter_ Scaramouch, _peeping at the other Door_.
_Scar_. So, so, all things go gloriously forward, but my own Amour, and
there is no convincing this obstinate Woman, that ‘twas that Rogue
_Harlequin_ in Disguise, claim’d me; so that I cannot so much as come to
deliver the young Ladies their Letters from their Lovers. I must get in
with this damn’d Mistress of mine, or all our Plot will be spoil’d for
want of Intelligence.
--Hum, the Devil does not use to fail me at a dead Lift. I must deliver
these Letters, and I must have this Wench--though but to be reveng’d on
her for abusing me--Let me see--she is resolv’d for the Apothecary or
the Farmer. Well, say no more, honest _Scaramouch_; thou shalt find a
Friend at need of me--and if I do not fit you with a Spouse, say that a
Woman has out-witted me.
[_Exit_.
_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 of his Horse_.
_Off_. Hold, hold, Sir, you I suppose know the Customs that are due to
this City of _Naples_, from all Persons that pass the Gates in Coach,
Chariot, Calash, or _Siege Volant_.
_Har_. I am not ignorant of the Custom, Sir, but what’s that to me.
_Off_. Not to you, Sir! why, what Privilege have you above the rest?
_Har_. Privilege, for what, Sir?
_Off_. Why, for passing, Sir, with any of the before-named Carriages.
_Har_. Art mad?--Dost not see I am a plain Baker, and this my Cart, that
comes to carry Bread for the Vice-Roy’s, and the City’s Use?--ha.
_Off_. Are you mad, Sir, to think I cannot see a Gentleman Farmer and a
Calash, from a Baker and a Cart.
_Har_. Drunk by this Day--and so early too? Oh, you’re a special
Officer? unhand my Horse, Sirrah, or you shall pay for all the Damage
you do me.
_Off_. Hey Day! here’s a fine Cheat upon the Vice-Roy: Sir, pay me, or
I’ll seize your Horse.
[Har. _strikes him. They scuffle a little_.
--Nay, and you be so brisk, I’ll call the Clerk from his Office.
[_Calls_.]--Mr. Clerk, Mr. Clerk.
[_Goes to the Entrance to call the_ Clerk, _the mean time_ Har.
_whips a Frock over himself, and puts down the hind part of the
Chariot, and then ‘tis a Cart.
Enter_ Clerk.
_Cler_. What’s the matter here?
_Off_. Here’s a Fellow, Sir, will persuade me, his Calash is a Cart, and
refuses the Customs for passing the Gate.
_Cler_. A Calash--Where?--I see only a Carter and his Cart.
[_The_ Officer _looks on him_.
_Off_. Ha, what a Devil, was I blind?
_Har_. Mr. Clerk, I am a Baker, that came with Bread to sell, and this
Fellow here has stopt me this Hour, and made me lose the sale of my
Ware; and being drunk, will out-face me I am a Farmer, and this Cart
a Calash.
_Cler_. He’s in an Error, Friend, pass on.
_Har_. No, Sir, I’ll have satisfaction first, or the Vice-Roy shall know
how he’s serv’d by drunken Officers, that are a Nuisance to a Civil
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, gratify him, and see better hereafter.
_Off_. Here, Sir,--if I must, I must. [_Gives him a Crown_.
_Cler_. Pass on, Friend.
[_Ex_. Clerk.
[Har. _unseen, puts up the back of his Calash, and whips off
his Frock, and goes to drive on. The_ Officer _looks on him,
and stops him again_.
_Off_. Hum, I’ll swear it is a Calash--Mr. Clerk--Mr. Clerk, come back,
come back.
[_Runs out to call him. He changes as before_.
_Enter_ Officer _and_ Clerk.
--Come, Sir, let your own Eyes convince you, Sir.
_Cler_. Convince me, of what, you Sot?
_Off_. This is a Gentleman, and that a--ha--
[_Looks about on_ Har.
_Cler_. Stark drunk! Sirrah, if you trouble me at every Mistake of yours
thus, you shall quit your Office.
_Off_. I beg your Pardon, Sir, I am a little in Drink I confess--a
little blind and mad--Sir,
--This must be the Devil, that’s certain.
[_The_ Clerk _goes out_.
[Har. _puts up his Calash again, and pulls off his Frock
and drives out_.
--Well, now to my thinking, ‘tis as plain a Calash again as ever I saw
in my Life, and yet I’m satisfy’d ‘tis nothing but a Cart.
[_Ex_.
SCENE II. _Changes to the_ Doctor’s _House. The Hall_.
_Enter_ Scaramouch _in a Chair, which is set down and open’d
on all sides, and on the top represents an Apothecary’s Shop,
the Inside being painted with Shelves, and rows of Pots and
Bottles_; Scaramouch _sitting in it dress’d in Black, with a
short black Cloke, a Ruff, and little Hat_.
_Scar_. The Devil’s in’t, if either the Doctor, my Master, or
_Mopsophil_, know me in this Disguise--And thus I may not only gain my
Mistress, and out-wit _Harlequin_, but deliver the Ladies those Letters
from their Lovers, which I took out of his Pocket this Morning; and who
wou’d suspect an Apothecary for a Pimp?--Nor can the Jade _Mopsophil_,
in Honour, refuse a Person of my Gravity, and so well set up.--
[_Pointing to his Shop_.
--Hum, the Doctor here first, this is not so well, but I’m prepar’d
with Impudence for all Encounters.
_Enter the_ Doctor. Scaramouch _salutes him gravely_.
--Most Reverend Doctor _Baliardo_. [_Bows_.
_Doct_. Seignior-- [_Bows_.
_Scar_. I might through great Pusillanimity, blush to give you this
Anxiety, did not I opine you were as gracious as communicative and
eminent; and though you have no Cognisance of me, your humble
Servant,--yet I have of you,--you being so gravely fam’d for your
admirable Skill both in Galenical and Paracelsian _Phaenomena’s_,
and other approv’d Felicities in Vulnerary Emeticks, and purgative
Experiences.
_Doct_. Seignior,--your Opinion honours me--rare Man this.
_Scar_. And though I am at present busied in writing--those few
Observations I have accumulated in my Peregrinations, Sir; yet the
Ambition I aspir’d to, of being an ocular and aurial Witness of your
Singularity, made me trespass on your sublimer Affairs.
_Doct_. Seignior--
_Scar_.--Besides a violent Inclination, Sir, of being initiated into the
Denomination of your learned Family, by the Conjugal Circumference of a
Matrimonial Tye, with that singularly accomplish’d Person--Madam, the
Governante of your Hostel--
_Doct_. Hum--A Sweet-heart for _Mopsophil_! [_Aside_.
_Scar_. And if I may obtain your Condescension to my Hymenaeal
Propositions, I doubt not my Operation with the Fair One.
_Doct_. Seignior, she’s much honour’d in the Overture, and my Abilities
shall not be wanting to fix the Concord.--But have you been a Traveller,
Sir?
_Scar_. Without Circumlocutions, Sir, I have seen all the Regions
beneath the Sun and Moon.
_Doct_. Moon, Sir! You never travell’d thither, Sir?
_Scar_. Not in _Propria Persona, Seignior_, but by Speculation, I have,
and made most considerable Remarks on that incomparable _Terra Firma_,
of which I have the compleatest Map in Christendom--and which _Gonzales_
himself omitted in his _Cosmographia_ of the _Lunar Mundus_.
_Doct_. A Map of the _Lunar Mundus_, Sir! may I crave the Honour of
seeing it?
_Scar_. You shall, Sir, together with a Map of _Terra Incognita_; a
great Rarity, indeed, Sir.
_Enter_ Bellemante.
_Doct_. Jewels, Sir, worth a King’s Ransom!
_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 employ’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 Letter 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, given ‘em_ 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 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 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 appearances of the Virtue of the Water you speak of.
_Scar_. Pox upon him, what Questions he asks--but I must on. [_Aside_.]
Why, Sir, you must know,--the Tincture of this Water upon Stagnation
ceruleates, and the Crocus upon the Stones flaveces; this he observes
--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 palled, _Filia Solis_ is breeding.
_Doct_. Hum.
_Scar_. And then the third Region, if the Faeces be volatile, 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 Nadir, of 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 _Amalgama_.
[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 _prima
Materia_; upon my Honour, Sir, the strongest I ever drank of.
_Doct_. How, Sir! did you drink of it?
_Scar_. I only speak the words of _Garamanteen_, Sir.
--Pox on him, I shall be trapt. [_Aside_.
_Doct_. Cry Mercy, Sir.-- [_Bows_.
_Scar_. The Lunary Physicians, Sir, call it _Urinam Vulcani_, it
calybeates 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 safely 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 apply a Load-stone _ad Anum_.
_Doct_. Is’t possible?
_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
Honour of a Word or two with the Governante, before I go.
_Doct_. Sir, she shall wait on you, and I shall be proud of the Honour
of your Conversation.
[_Ex_. 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, perhaps, my Rival the Apothecary.--Speak with, Sir! why,
what’s that to you?
_Scar_. Have you Affairs with Seignor 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 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, though 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, putting each other by_.
_Mop_. Hold, Gentlemen,--do not worry me. Which of you wou’d 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 disingenuous, Sir, to intrude on me.
[_Putting one another by_.
_Mop_. Let me then speak first.
_Har_. I’m dumb.
_Scar_. I acquiesce.
_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 Gentlewoman’s Servant, her Lover, her Husband, her
Dog in a Halter, or any thing.
_Scar_. Him I pronounce a Paltroon, and an ignominious Utensil, that
dare lay claim to the renowned Lady of my _Primum Mobile_; 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’s 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 genteel 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 Repartees most
excellently denotes 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
yclepes a Philosopher a Conjurer. [_In Rage_.
_Har_. Losaphers!--Prithee, if thou be’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_. That’s 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, 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 villanous Inconstancy.
_Scar_. Ah, are you 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 Mistress or his Friend. And I wou’d sooner wed that
Scoundrel _Scaramouch_, that very civil Pimp, that mere pair of chymical
Bellows that blow the Doctor’s 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.
_Scar_. 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 villanous 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’ad 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 whip’d and lash’d, that piteous Property
I’ad rather wed than thee.
_Har_. A very fair Declaration.
_Mop_. You understand me--and so adieu, sweet Glisterpipe, 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 Rogue to
put these Tricks upon me, and most dishonourably break all Articles
between us?
_Har_. And are not you a dam’d Son of a--something--to break Articles
with me?
_Scar_. No more Words, Sir, no more Words, I find it must come to
Actions, 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,
and with his Cane beats 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 Master’s sake, and it may
spoil our Intrigue anon; besides, he’ll then discover me, and I shall be
discarded for bantering the Doctor. [_Aside_.
--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 Woman’s Clothes, and I
should be kick’d and beaten most insatiably.
_Scar_. What, Seignior, for a Man of Parts to be impos’d upon, and
whip’d through the Lungs here--like a Mountebank’s Zany for sham Cures
--Mr. Doctor, I must tell you ‘tis not civil.
_Doct_. I am extremely 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.
[_Exit_ 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 Niece and
Daughter.
_Scar_. No, no, Sir, he comes to impose the grossest Lye upon you, that
ever was heard of.
_Enter_ Pedro _with others, with a Blanket. They put_ Harlequin
_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 Impostor 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 either 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 undecent Indignity to your high Character, you
ought to pardon the Frailty of our mortal Education and Ignorance,
having never before been bless’d with the Descension of any from your
World.
_Har_. What the Devil shall I say now? [_Aside_.
--I confess I am, as you may see by my Garb, Sir, a little _Incognito_,
because the publick Message I bring is very private--which is, that the
mighty _Iredonozor_, 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.--Though 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.
[_Exit_.
_Har_. You have it, Friend. Does your Niece 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.
_Doct_. Why, that’s just as ‘tis here; but your Men of Quality, your
Statesmen, 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
Mistress, 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 gives him all--unless his Wife’s
over-gallantry breaks 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
Cravat; for the great Men prefer none but their Foot-men and Valets.
_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_. The Devil’s 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 by the Sea-side--
there arose, Sir, a great Mist, by the Sun’s exhaling of the Vapours
of the Earth, Sir.
_Doct_. Right, Sir.
_Har_. In this Fog, or Mist, Sir, I was exhal’d.
_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
drop’d into the Sea.
_Doct_. How, Sir, into the Sea?
_Har_. The Sea, Sir, where the Emperor’s Fisherman 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 fall 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 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 saw you
and your Daughter and Neice, and from that very moment fell most
desperately in love.--But hark, the sound of Timbrels, 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 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! haste to the old Gallery, whence, with
the help of your Telescope, you may discover all.
_Doct_. I would not lose a moment for the lower Universe.
_Enter_ Elaria, Bellemante, Mopsophil, _dressed 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 Fate.
[_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, Heavens forbid, thou art 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 Splendour of the unusual Sight, will so turn his Brain and
dazzle him, that in Grace and 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 III. _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 profane 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, ranged on each side of
the Walks. Next_ Keplair _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_ Keplair _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--_Keplair_ and _Galileus_ we are call’d, sent as Interpreters to
Great _Iredonozor_, the Emperor of the Moon, who is descending.
_Doct_. Most reverend Bards--profound Philosophers--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
Neice.
_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 Emperor’s
Train! Sir, you will behold abundance; look up and see the Orbal World
descending; observe the Zodiack, 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 join,
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.
_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 bless’d 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 Love’s Courage and his Slavery
In_ Taurus _is expressed,
Though o’er the Plains the Conqueror be,
The generous Beast
Does to the Yoke submit his noble Breast;
While_ Gemini _smiling and twining of Arms,
Shews Love’s soft Indearments and Charms;
And_ Cancer’s _slow Motion the degrees do express,
Respectful Love arrives to Happiness_.
Leo _his strength and Majesty_,
Virgo _her blushing Modesty,
And_ Libra _all his Equity.
His Subtilty does_ Scorpio _show,
And_ Sagittarius _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,
Shew 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 you’d destroy,
There ne’er was more Cause for 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 shew 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 them, which prepares the
Song. Which ended the Dancers mingle as before_.
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
Of_ Sylvia’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_ Sylvia’s _charming Eyes,
Whose Soul is there confessed.
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 dressed, 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_ Keplair.
_Kep_. The Emperor wou’d have you rise, Sir, he will expect no Ceremony
from the Father of his Mistress.
[_Takes him up_.
_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 again 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 Sense 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 Virtue did incite us,
Whose Daughter’s 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 human 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 _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 _signs to_ Keplair.
_Kep_. What are you?
_Scar_. Two neighbouring Princes to your 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 we have 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.