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Emperor of the Moon

<h2 id="id05291" style="margin-top: 4em">ACT II.</h2> <h5 id="id05292">SCENE I. A Chamber in the Doctor’s House.</h5> 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. <h3 id="id05309" style="margin-top: 3em">SCENE II. Changes to the Street.</h3> 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. <h3 id="id05333" style="margin-top: 3em">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.</h3> 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. <h3 id="id05459" style="margin-top: 3em">SCENE IV. Draws off to Bellemante’s Chamber, discovers Elaria, Bellemante and Mopsophil in Night-Gowns.</h3> 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. <h3 id="id05484" style="margin-top: 3em">SCENE V. The Garden.</h3> 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. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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