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.
Out of a great Curiosity, A Shepherd this implor’d of me. Tell me, said he, my Bellemante, Will you be kind to your Charmante? I blush’d, and veil’d my wishing Eyes, And answer’d only with my Sighs. Cou’d I a better way my Love impart? And without speaking, tell him all my Heart.
Char. Whose is this different Character? [Looks angry.
Bell. ‘Tis yours for ought I know.
Char. Away, my Name was put here for a blind. What Rhiming Fop have you been clubbing Wit withal?
Bell. Ah! mon Dieu!—Charmante jealous?
Char. Have I not cause?—Who writ these Boremes?
Bell. Some kind assisting Deity, for ought I know.
Char. Some kind assisting Coxcomb, that I know. The Ink’s yet wet, the Spark is near I find.—
Bell. Ah, Malheureuse! How was I mistaken in this Man?
Char. Mistaken! What, did you take me for an easy Fool to be impos’d upon?—One that wou’d be cuckolded by every feather’d Fool; that you’d call a Beau un Gallant Homme. ‘Sdeath! Who wou’d doat upon a fond She-Fop?—a vain conceited amorous Coquette. [Goes out, she pulls him back.
Enter Scaramouch running.
Sea. Oh Madam! hide your Lover, or we are all undone.
Char. I will not hide, till I know the thing that made the Verses. [The Doctor calling as on the Stairs.
Doct. Bellemante, Niece,—Bellemante.
Scar. She’s coming, Sir.—Where, where shall I hide him? —Oh, the Closet’s open! [Thrusts him into the Closet by force.
Enter Doctor.
Doct. Oh Niece! Ill Luck, Ill Luck, I must leave you to night; my Brother the Advocate is sick, and has sent for me; ‘tis three long Leagues, and dark as ‘tis, I must go.—They say he is dying. Here, take my Keys, [Pulls out his Keys, one falls down. and go into my Study, and look over all my Papers, and bring me all those mark’d with a Cross and figure of Three, they concern my Brother and I.
[She looks on Scaramouch, and makes pitiful Signs, and goes out.
—Come, Scaramouch, and get me ready for my Journey; and on your Life, let not a Door be open’d till my Return.
[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.