Alcan. 'Twas this Aminta would persuade me to, And, faith, I laught at her, And wish I might have leave to do so now.

Phi. You do displease me with your Unbelief.

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

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

Er. It is Alcander, I may trust him too. [She peeps in on them, and comes out.

Phi. Look where she comes again, credit thy Eyes, Which did persuade thee that they saw her dead.

Alcan. By Heaven, and so they did. [Both seem frighted. —Gods—this is wondrous strange! yet I can bear it, If it were the Devil himself in that fair shape.

Phi. And yet thou shakest.

Alcan. I do, but know not why. —Inform us, lovely Spirit, what thou art, A God—or Devil; if either, thou art welcome.

Er. You cannot think, Alcander, there be Ghosts. [She gives her hands to him and Phi. which they refuse to touch. No, give me your hand, and prove mine flesh and blood. —Sir, you were wont to credit what I said, And I would still merit that kind opinion.

Phi. Erminia, Soul of Sweetness, is it you? —How do you ravish with excess of Joys?

Er. Softly, dear Sir, do not express that Joy, Lest you destroy it by your doing so. I fly for sanctuary to your Arms; As yet none knows I live, but poor Isillia, Who bathing of my cold face with her tears, Perceiv'd some signs of life, and us'd what means Her Love and Duty did instruct her in; And I in half an hour was so reviv'd, As I had sense of all was past and done; And to prevent a death I yet might fear, If mad Alcippus had return'd again, —Alone I came to you, where I could find Alone my Safety too.

Phi. From Gods and Men, Erminia, thou art safe, My best and blest Erminia.

Er. Sir, in my coming hither I met Aminta, Who I may fear has alarm'd all the Court; She took me for a Ghost, and ran away, E'er I cou'd undeceive her. —Falatius too, afrighted even to death—

Alcan. Faith, that was lucky, Madam. —Hark, some body knocks, you'd best retire a little. [Leads her into the door.

Enter Galatea and Aminta lighted.

Gal. Ah, Brother, there's such news abroad—

Phi. What, dear Sister, for I am here confin'd, And cannot go to meet it?

Gal. Erminia's Ghost is seen, and I'm so frighted—

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

Gal. Oh, do not say so; For though the World had nought I held more dear, I would not see her Ghost for all the World.

Alcan. But, Madam, 'tis so like Erminia—

Am. Why, have you seen it too?

Alcan. Yes, Aminta.

Am. Then there be Ghosts, Alcander.

Phi. Aminta, we'll convince him. [Phi. leads out Er. who comes smiling to the Princess.

Gal. But how, dear Creature, wert thou thus preserv'd?

Phi. Another time for that, but now let's think [Aminta embraces her. How to preserve her still. Since all believe her dead, but who are present, And that they may remain in that blest error, I will consult with you; but you, my dearest, Shall as the Spirit of Erminia act, And reap the glory of so good a part: It will advance the new design I have; And, Sister, to your care I must commit the Treasure of my Life.

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

Er. Madam, I fear'd the safety of my Prince, And every moment that I found I liv'd, Were more tormenting than those of death, Till I had undeceiv'd his Apprehensions.

Phi. 'Twas like thy self, generous and kind, my Dear, Thou mightst have come too late else.

Er. But, Sir, pray where's my Murderer? for yet A better name I cannot well afford him.

Gal. All that we know of him, Pisaro now inform'd me, Who came just as he thought he had murder'd thee, And begg'd he would provide for his own safety. But he who gave him sober promises, No sooner found himself out of his arms, But frantick and i'th' dark he got away. But out o'th' Court he knows he cannot pass At this dead time of night; But he believes he is i'th' Groves or Gardens, And thither he is gone to find him out.

Alcan. This is no place to make a longer stay in, The King has many Spies about the Prince, 'Twere good you would retire to your Apartment.

Gal. We'll take your Counsel, Sir. —Good night, Brother.

Phi. Erminia, may thy Dreams be calm and sweet, As thou hast made my Soul; May nothing of the Cruelty that's past, Approach thee in a rude uneasy thought; Remember it not so much as in thy Prayers, Let me alone to thank the Gods for thee, To whom that Blessing only was ordain'd.

And when I lose my Gratitude to Heaven, May they deprive me of the Joys they've given.

[Exeunt.



ACT V.

SCENE I. Galatea's Apartments.

Enter Galatea, Erminia, Pisaro, Aminta.

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

Pis. I have, and done as you commanded me. I found him sitting by a Fountain side, Whose Tears had power to swell the little tide, Which from the Marble Statues breasts still flows: As silent and as numberless were those. I laid me down behind a Thicket near, Where undiscover'd I could see and hear; The Moon the Day supply'd, and all below Instructed, even as much as Day could do. I saw his postures, heard him rave and cry, 'Twas I that kill'd Erminia, yes 'twas I; Then from his almost frantick Head he'd tear Whole handfuls of his well-becoming Hair: Thus would he, till his Rage was almost spent, And then in softer terms he would lament: Then speak as if Erminia still did live, And that Belief made him forget to grieve. —The Marble Statue Venus he mistook For fair Erminia, and such things he spoke, Such unheard passionate things, as e'en wou'd move The marble Statue's self to fall in love; He'd kiss its Breast, and say she kind was grown, And never mind, alas, 'twas senseless Stone; He took its Hand, and to his Mouth had laid it, But that it came not, and its stay betray'd it; Then would he blush, and all asham'd become, His Head declining, for awhile be dumb: His Arms upon his Breast across would lay, Then sensibly and calmly walk away; And in his walk a thousand things he said, Which I forgot, yet something with me staid; He did consult the nature of the Crime, And still concluded that 'twas just in him; He run o'er all his life, and found no act That was ungenerous in him, but this fact, From which the Justice took off the Disgrace, And might even for an act of Virtue pass; He did consult his Glory and his Pride; And whilst he did so, laid his grief aside; —Then was as calm as e'er he seem'd to be.

Gal. And all this while did he ne'er mention me?

Pis. Yes, Madam, and a thousand things he said, By which much Shame and Passion he betray'd: And then 'twas, Madam, I stept in and gave Counsels, I thought him fittest to receive; I sooth'd him up, and told him that the Crime I had committed, had the case been mine. I all things said that might his Griefs beguile, And brought him to the sweetness of a Smile. —To all I said he lent a willing ear, And my reproaches too at last did hear. With this insensibly I drew him on, And with my flatteries so upon him won, Such Gentleness infus'd into his Breast, As has dispos'd his wearied Soul to rest: Sleeping upon a Couch I've left him now, And come to render this account to you. [Bows.

Gal. Pisaro, 'twas the office of a Friend, And thou'st perform'd it to a generous end: Go on and prosper in this new design, And when thou'st done, the glory shall be thine.

[Exeunt.



SCENE II. The Bedchamber of Alcippus.

Draws off, discovers Alcippus rising from the Couch.

Alcip. I cannot sleep, my Soul is so unfurnish'd Of all that Sweetness which allow'd it rest. —'Tis flown, 'tis flown, for ever from my breast, And in its room eternal discords dwell, Such as outdo the black intrigues of Hell— Oh my fortune—

[Weeps, pulling out his handkerchief, drops a Picture with a Glass on the reverse.

—What's here? Alas, that which I dare not look on, And yet, why should I shun that Image here, Which I continually about me bear? But why, dear Picture, art thou still so gay, Since she is gone from whom those Charms were borrow'd? Those Eyes that gave this speaking life to thine, Those lovely Eyes are clos'd in endless darkness; There's not a Star in all the face of Heaven, But now out-shines those Suns: Suns at Noon-day dispens'd not kindlier influence. And thou blest Mirror, that hast oft beheld That Face, which Nature never made a fairer; Thou that so oft her Beauties back reflected, And made her know what wondrous power there lay In every Feature of that lovely Face. But she will smile no more! no more! no more! —Why, who shall hinder her? Death, cruel Death. —'Twas I that murder'd her— Thou lyest—thou durst as well be damn'd as touch her, She was all sacred; and that impious Hand That had profanely touch'd her, Had wither'd from the Body. —I lov'd her—I ador'd her, and could I, Could I approach her with unhallowed thoughts? —No, no, I durst not— But as devoutest Pilgrims do the Shrine. —If I had done't, The Gods who take the part of Innocence, Had been reveng'd— Why did not Thunder strike me in the Action? Why, if the Gods be just, and I had done't, Did they not suffer Earth to swallow me, Quick—quick into her bosom? —But yet I say again, it was not I, —Let me behold this face, That durst appear in such a Villany. [He looks in the glass.

Enter Pisaro, and Erminia drest like an Angel with Wings.

Pis. Look where he is.

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

Pis. Fear nothing, Madam, I'll be near you still.

Er. Pray stay a little longer.

Alcip.—My Face has Horror in't pale and disfigur'd, And lean as Envy's self— My Eyes all bloody,—and my hanging lids Like Midnight's mischief, hide the guilty Balls, —And all about me calls me Murderer: —Oh horrid Murderer! That very Sound tears out my hated Soul, —And to compleat my ruin, I'll still behold this face where Murder dwells.

[He looks in the glass, Erminia steals behind him, and looks into it over his shoulder; he is frighted.

Ha—what does this Glass present me? What art thou?—speak—What art thou? [Turns by degrees towards it. —Sure I am fixt, what, shall the Devil fright me? —Me shall he fright, Who stood the Execution of a Murder? —But 'tis that Shape, and not thy Nature frights me, —That calls the blood out of my panting Heart, That Traytor Heart that did conspire thy death.

Er. Sit down and hear me—

[In a tone like a Spirit, and points to a Chair; soft Musick begins to play, which continues all this Scene.

To disobey, thy punishment shall be; To live in endless torments, but ne'er die.

Alcip. Thou threatnest high, bold Rebel, [He sits within the Scene, bows.

Er. Alcippus, tell me what you see, What is't that I appear to be?

Alcip. My blest Erminia deify'd.

Er. Alcippus, _you inform me true; I am thus deify'd by you; To you I owe this blest abode, For I am happy as a God; I only come to tell thee so, And by that tale to end thy Woe; Know, Mighty Sir, your Joy's begun, From what last night to me was done; In vain you rave, in vain you weep, For what the Gods must ever keep; In vain you mourn, in vain deplore A loss which tears can ne'er restore. The Gods their Mercies will dispense, In a more glorious Recompence; A World of Blessings they've in store, A World of Honours, Vict'ries more; Thou shalt the Kingdom's Darling be, And Kings shall Homage pay to thee; Thy Sword no bounds to Conquest set, And thy Success that Sword shall whet; Princes thy Chariot-wheel shall grace, Whilst thou in Triumph bring'st home Peace.

This will the Gods; thy King yet more Will give thee what those Gods adore; And what they did create for thee_, Alcippus, _look, for that is she_.

Enter the Princess, who goes over the Stage as a Spirit, bows a little to Alcippus, and goes off.

Alcip. The Princess! [He offers to rise.

Er. Be still; 'tis she you must possess, 'Tis she must make your happiness; 'Tis she must lead you on to find Those Blessings Heaven has design'd: 'Tis she'll conduct you, where you'll prove The perfect Joys of grateful Love.

Enter Aminta like Glory, Alcander representing Honour. They pass over and bow, and go out.

Glory and Honour wait on her.

Enter two more representing Mars and Pallas, bow and go out.

With Pallas and the God of War,

Enter Olinda like Fortune, a Page like Cupid, bow and go out.

Fortune and Love which ne'er agree, Do now united bow to thee. —Be wise, and of their Bounties share; For if Erminia still was here, Still subject to the toils of Life, She never could have been thy Wife, Who by the Laws of Men and Heaven Was to another's bosom given: —And what Injustice thou hast done, Was only to thy Prince alone; But he has mercy, can redeem Those Ills which thou hast done to him. —But see, they all return again.

[All the Disguis'd enter again and dance, with Love in the midst, to whom as they dance, they in order make an offer of what they carry, which must be something to represent them by; which Love refuses with Nods, still pointing to Alcippus: the Dance done, they lay them at his feet, or seem to do so, and go out.

What think'st thou of thy Destiny, Is't not agreeable to thee? Tell me, Alcippus, is't not brave? Is it not better than a Grave? Cast off your Tears, abandon Grief, And give what you have seen belief. Dress all your Looks, and be as gay As Virgins in the Month of May; Deck up that Face where Sorrow grows, And let your Smiles adorn your brows; Recal your wonted Sweetness home, And let your Eyes all Love become: For what the Gods have willed and said, Thou hast no power to evade. What they decree none can withstand, You must obey what they command.

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

Enter Pisaro.

Pis. How is it, man?—what, speechless?

Alcip. No.

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

Alcip. I know not.

Pis. Have you slept?

Alcip. Yes, ever since you left me; And 'twas a kindness in thee now to wake me; For Sleep had almost flatter'd me to Peace, Which is a vile injustice. Hah, Pisaro, I had such a Dream, Such a fine flattering Dream—

Pis. How was it, pray?

Alcip. Nay, I will forget it; I do not merit so much peace of mind, As the relation of that Dream will give me: Oh, 'twas so perfect, too, I hardly can persuade my self I slept! Dost thou believe there may be Apparitions?

Pis. Doubtless, my Lord, there be.

Alcip. I never could believe it till this hour, By Heavens, I think I saw them too, Pisaro.

Pis. 'Tis very possible you're not deceiv'd.

Alcip. Erminia's Spirit, in a glorious form.

Pis. I do believe you.

Alcip. Why, is't not strange?

Pis. It would have been, had I not heard already She has this night appear'd to several Persons, In several Shapes; the first was to the Prince; And said so many pretty things for you, As has persuaded him to pardon you.

Alcip. Oh Gods, what Fortune's mine! I do believe the Prince is innocent From all that thou hast said. —But yet I wish he would dispose his Bounties On those that would return acknowledgments; I hate he should oblige me.

Pis. You are too obstinate, and must submit.

Alcip. It cannot be, and yet methinks I give A strange and sudden credit to this Spirit, It beckon'd me into another room; I'll follow it, and know its business there. [Aside.

Pis. Come, Sir, I am a kind of Prophet, And can interpret Dreams too. We'll walk a while, and you shall tell me all, And then I would advise you what to do.

[Exeunt.



SCENE III. The King's Chamber.

Enter Philander with the King.

King. Thou'st entertain'd me with a pretty Story, And call'd up so much Nature to thy Cause, That I am half subjected to its Laws; I find thy lovely Mother plead within too, And bids me put no force upon thy Will; Tells me thy Flame should be as unconfin'd As that we felt when our two Souls combin'd. Alas, Philander, I am old and feeble, And cannot long survive: But thou hast many Ages yet to number Of Youth and Vigour; and should all be wasted In the Embraces of an unlov'd Maid? No, my Philander, if that after death Ought could remain to me of this World's Joys, I should remember none with more delight, Than those of having left thee truly happy.

Phi. This Goodness, Sir, resembles that of Heaven, Preserving what it made, and can be paid Only with grateful Praise as we do that.

King. Go, carry on your innocent design, And when you've done, the last act shall be mine.

[Exeunt



SCENE IV. The Court Gallery.

Enter Aminta followed by Alcander, Erminia and Galatea; they go out: re-enter Alcander, and stays Aminta.

Alcan. Stay, dear Aminta, do not fly so fast.

Am. Methinks, Alcander, you should shun that Maid, Of whose too much of kindness you're afraid. 'Twas not long since you parted in such feud, And swore my treatment of you was too rude; You vow'd you found no Beauty in my eyes, And can you now pursue what you despise? [Offers to go.

Alcan. Nay, do not leave me yet, for still your Scorn Much better than your Absence may be borne.

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

Alcan. Say, fair Aminta, shall I never find You'll cease this Rigour, and be kind? Will that dear Breast no Tenderness admit? And shall the Pain you give no Pity get? Will you be never touch'd with what I say? And shall my Youth and Vows be thrown away? You know my Passion and my Humour too, And how I die, though do not tell you so.

Am. What arguments will you produce to prove You love? for yet I'll not believe you love.

Alcan. Since, fair Aminta, I did thee adore, Alas, I am not what I was before: My Thoughts disorder'd from my Heart do break; And Sighs destroy my Language when I speak. My Liberty and my Repose I gave, To be admitted but your Slave; And can you question such a Victory? Or must I suffer more to make it sure? It needs not, since these Languishments can be Nought but the Wounds which you alone can cure.

Am. Alcander, you so many Vows have paid, So many Sighs and Tears to many a Maid, That should I credit give to what you say, I merit being undone as well as they. —No, no, Alcander, I'll no more of that.

Alcan. Farewel, Aminta, mayst thou want a Lover, When I shall hate both thee and thy whole Sex; I can endure your sober Cruelty, But do despise it clad in Jollity.

[Exeunt severally.



SCENE V.

Discovers a Room hung with Black, a Hearse standing in it with Tapers round about it, Alcippus weeping at it, with Isillia, and other Women with long black Veils round about the Hearse.

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

Alcip. Oh Isillia, Thou knowest not what vast Treasure this incloses, This sacred Pile; is there no Sorrow due to it? Alas, I bad her not farewel at parting. Nor did receive so much as one poor Kiss. —Ah wretched, wretched Man!

Enter the Prince.

How, the Prince! How suddenly my Grief submits to Rage.

Phi. Alcippus, why dost thou gaze thus on me? What Horror have I in my looks that frights thee?

Alcip. Why, Sir, what makes you here? I have no more Wives, no more Erminias; Alas, she is dead— Will you not give her leave to rest in peace?

Phi. Is this the Gratitude you pay my Favours, That gave ye life, after your wrongs to me? But 'twas my Sister's Kindness that preserv'd thee And I prefer'd my Vengeance to the Gods.

Alcip. Your Sister is a Saint whom I adore; But I refuse a Life that comes from you.

Isil. What mean you, Sir?

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

Phi. Alcippus, for my Sister's sake who loves you, I can bear more than this—you know my power, And I can make you fear. [Offers to go out.

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

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

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

Phi. Let him give place, I'll keep possession here.

Isil. It is the Prince's pleasure, Sir, you quit the Presence.

Alcip. No, this I call my Home; And since Erminia's here that does entitle it so, I will not quit the Presence.

Phi. Gave thee a Title to't, Alcippus?

Alcip. Me, Philander!

[They come to each other's breast, and so draw.

Phi. Thee.

Alcip. Me, what dare you now?

Phi. I dare declare that I can hear no more; Be witness, Heaven, how justly I'm compell'd.

Alcip. Now, Sir, you are brave and love Erminia too.

[The Women run all away crying; they draw out some one way, and some another, leaving some their Veils behind them, some half off, half on.

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

Alcip. Sir, 'tis a work that will soon be dispatcht, And this a place and time most proper for't.

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

Enter_ Pisaro, _runs between_.

Pis. Hold, Sir, are you grown desperate? What means your Highness? [To the Prince. Alcippus, what is't you design in this?

Alcip. To fight, Pisaro, and be kill'd.

Pis. By Heaven, you shall not fight, unless with me, And you have so anger'd me with this rash action, I could almost provoke you to it.

Enter Alcander.

Alcan. Gods, Sir, that you should thus expose your self, The World's great Heir, against a desperate Madman!

Pis. Have you forgot your Apparition, Sir?

Alcip. Oh, 'twas an idle lying one, Pisaro, And came but to intrap me.

To them Galatea, Aminta, and Olinda.

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

Phi. Here, Galatea, punish my misfortune, For yet I want the will to injure thee. Heaven knows what provocations I receiv'd E'er I would draw a Sword on him you lov'd.

Gal. Unjust Alcippus, how dost thou reward me?

Alcip. Ah, Madam, I have too much shame to live. Had Heaven preserv'd my Innocence intire, That I with confidence might have ador'd you, Though I had been successless; Yet I had liv'd and hop'd, and aim'd to merit you: But since all hopes of that are taken from me, My Life is but too poor a Sacrifice, To make atonement for my Sins to you.

Gal. I will not answer thee to what thou hast said, But only beg thou wilt preserve thy life, Without which mine will be of little use to me.

Alcip. Might I without a sin believe this Blessing, Sure I should be immortal.

Falatio peeps in again.

Fal. I think I may venture, the fury is past, and the great shot spent, the mad Captain General's wounded; so, I hope 'twill let out some of his hot blood—

Enter the King, Cleontius, and Attendants.

King. My Love, Alcippus, is despis'd I see, And you in lieu of that return you owe me, Endeavour to destroy me. —Is this an Object for your Rage to work on? Behold him well, Alcippus, 'tis your Prince. —Who dares gaze on him with irreverend Eyes? The good he does you ought to adore him for, But all his evils 'tis the Gods must punish, Who made no Laws for Princes.

Alcip. Sir, I confess I'm culpable, And were it not a sin equal to that, To doubt you could forgive me, I durst not hope your mercy after it.

King. I think with all the Tenderness I'm guilty of, I hardly shall be brought to pardon thee.

Phi. I humbly beg you will forgive him, Sir, I drew him to it against his will; I forc'd him, And gave him language not to be indur'd By any gallant man.

King. Whilst you intreat for him, who pleads for you? For you are much the guiltier of the two, And need'st a greater interest to persuade me.

Alcip. It were not just to contradict my Prince, A Prince to whom I've been so late a Traitor; But, Sir, 'tis I alone am criminal, And 'twas I, Justly I thought provok'd him to this hazard: 'Tis I was rude, impatient, insolent, Did like a Madman animate his Anger, Not like a generous Enemy. Sir, when you weigh my Sorrows with this Action, You'll find no base Design, no Villany there; But being weary of a Life I hated, I strove to put it off, and missing that way, I come to make an offer of it here.

King. If I should take it, 'twere no more than just; Yet once again I will allow it thee, That thou mayst owe me for't a second time: Manage it better than the last I gave— [Ex. King.

Phi. Alcippus, may I credit what thou'st said, Or do you feign repentance to deceive me?

Alcip. I never could dissemble at my best, And now methinks your Highness should believe me, When my despairs and little love to life Make me despise all ways that may preserve it.

Phi. If thou wouldst have me credit thee, Alcippus, Thou shouldst not disesteem a Life, which ought To be preserv'd, to give a proof that what thou say'st Is true, and dispossess me of those fears I have, That 'tis my Life makes thine displeasing to thee.

Alcip. 'Tis a high proof to give you of my Duty, Yet that's more ease to me than your Unbelief.

Phi. Let me embrace and thank thee for this goodness. [He offers to embrace him, but he is shy, and keeps a little off. Why dost receive me coldly? I'm in earnest; As I love Honour, and esteem thee generous, I mean thee nothing but a perfect Friendship; By all my hopes I've no more quarrels to thee, All ends in this Embrace, and to confirm it I give thee here my Sister to thy Wife.

Alcip. Your Pardon, Sir, I must refuse your bounty, till I know By what strange turn of Fate I came thus blest. To you, my Prince, I've done unheard-of injuries, And though your Mercy do afford me life, With this rich present too; Till I could know I might deserve them both, That Life will prove a Plague, and this great Gift Turn to the torment of it.

Phi. Alcippus, 'tis not kind to doubt me still, Is this a present for a Man I hate?

Alcip. 'Tis true, Sir, and your bounty does amaze me; Can I receive a blessing of this magnitude With hands, yet have not wash'd away the sin Of your Erminia's murder? think of that, Sir; For though to me it did appear most just, Yet you must hate the Man that has undone you.

Gal. I see Erminia still usurps your thoughts.

Alcip. I must confess my Soul is scarce diverted Of that fond Passion which I had for her; But I protest before the Gods and you, Did she still live, and I might still possess her, I would refuse it, though I were ignorant Of what the Gods and your fair self design me.

Phi. To doubt thee were a sin below my nature, And to declare my faith above my fear, Behold what I present thee with.

[Goes out, and enters again with Erminia.

Alcip. Ha—Erminia? [He looks afrighted. —It is the same appear'd to me last night, —And my deluded Fancy Would have persuaded me 'twas but a dream.

Phi. Approach her, Sir, 'tis no fantasm.

Alcip. 'Tis she her self, Oh Gods, Erminia! [She goes a little back, as afraid, he kneels. —Ah, Madam, do not fear me in this posture, Which I will never quit till you have pardon'd me; It was a fault the most excusable, That ever wretched Lover did commit; And that which hinder'd me from following thee, Was that I could not well repent the Crime; But like a surly Sinner fac'd it out, And said, I thought 'twas just, yes, fair Erminia; Hadst thou been mine, I would i'th' face of Heaven, Proclaim it just and brave revenge: But, Madam, you were Wife to my Prince, And that was all my sin: Alas, in vain I hop'd for some return, And grew impatient of th'unkind delay, And frantickly I then out-run my happiness.

Er. Rise, I forgive thee, from my soul I do; Mayst thou be happier In thy more glorious Passion for the Princess, And all the Joys thou e'er couldst hope from me, Mayst thou find there repeated.

Enter King, Orgulius, and the rest.

Org. First, I'll keep my word with thee, Receive the welcome present which I promis'd.

[Gives him Erminia, she kneels.

Er. Can you forgive the Griefs I've made you suffer?

Org. I can forgive, though 'twas not kind To let me languish in a desperate Error; Why was this Blessing hid from me alone?

Er. Ah, Sir, so well I knew you lov'd Alcippus, That had you known it e'er the Prince had own'd me, I fear you had restor'd me back again, A Sin too great to load your Soul withal.

Org. My King already has forgiven that Error, And now I come to make my Peace with thee, And that I may with greatest speed obtain it, —To you, Sir, I resign her with as much Joy, [To the Prince. And when they undeceiv'd me Of my opinion of her being dead—

Phi. And I with greater Joy receive your gift. [Bows and takes her.

King. My Lord Alcippus, are you pleas'd with this?

Alcip. Sir, I am so pleas'd, so truly pleas'd with it, That Heaven, without this Blessing on my Prince, Had found but little trouble from my thanks, For all they have shower'd on me; 'Twas all I wisht, next my Pretensions here.

King. Then to compleat thy happiness, Take Galatea, since her Passion merits thee, As do thy Virtues her.

[Gives him Gal. they both bow.

Er. Sir, I've an humble suit t'your Majesty.

King. Conclude it granted then.

Er. Falatius, Sir, has long made love t' Isillia, And now he'as gain'd her Heart, he slights the Conquest, Yet all the fault he finds is that she's poor.

King. Isillia's Beauty can supply that want; Falatius, what d'ye say to't?

Fal. By Jove, Sir, I'll agree to any thing; for I believe a handsome young Wife at Court may bring a Man a greater Fortune than he can in Conscience desire. [Takes Isillia.

Er. Aminta, be persuaded. [Aside to Am.

Am. He'd use me scurvily then.

Alcan. That's according as you behav'd yourself, Aminta.

Am. I should domineer.

Alcan. I then should make love elsewhere.

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

Alcan. Faith—now we have disputed a point I never thought on before, I would willingly pursue it for the humour on't, not that I think I shall much approve on't.

Pis. Give him your hand, Aminta, and conclude, 'Tis time this haughty humour were subdu'd. By your submission, whatsoe'er he seem, In time you'll make the greater Slave of him.

Am. Well—not from the hope of that, but from my Love, His change of humour I'm content to prove. Here take me, Alcander; Whilst to Inconstancy I bid adieu, I find variety enough in you.

[He takes her and bows.

King. Come my brave Youths, we'll toil our selves with Joys, And when we're weary of the lazy play, We'll search abroad to find new Conquests out, And get fresh Appetites to new Delights: It will redouble your vast stock of Courage, And make th'uneasy Humour light and gentle; When you remember even in heat of Battle, That after all your Victories and Spoil, You'll meet calm Peace at home in soft Embraces. Thus may you number out your happy years,

Till Love and Glory no more proofs can give Of what they can bestow, or you receive.

[Exeunt.



EPILOGUE,

By a Woman.

We charged you boldly in our first advance, And gave the Onset a la mode de France, As each had been a Joan of Orleance.

_Like them our Heat as soon abated too; Alas we could not vanquish with a Show, Much more than that goes to the conquering you.

The Trial though will recompense the Pain, It having wisely taught us how to reign; 'Tis Beauty only can our Power maintain.

But yet, as tributary Kings, we own It is by you that we possess that Throne, Where had we Victors been, we'ad reign'd alone.

And we have promised what we could not do; A fault, methinks, might be forgiven too, Since 'tis but what we learnt of some of you.

But we are upon equal treatment yet, For neither conquer, since we both submit; You to our Beauty bow, we to your Wit_.



THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON.



ARGUMENT.

Doctor Baliardo, a Neapolitan philosopher, has so applied himself to the study of the Moon, and is enraptured to such an extent with the mysteries of that orb, that he has come steadfastly to believe in a lunar world, peopled, ruled and regulated like the earth. This wholly fills and absorbs his every waking thought, and, in consequence, he denies his daughter Elaria and his niece Bellemante to their respective lovers, the Viceroy's two nephews, Don Cinthio and Don Charmante, as being men of men of mere terrestial mould. The girls are, however, secretly assisted in their amours by Scaramouch, the doctor's man, who is himself a rival of Harlequin, Cinthio's valet, for the hand of Mopsophil, duenna to the young ladies. Harlequin, hoping to find his way to his mistress, gets to Bellemante's chamber but when she appears conceals himself. The doctor, however, who has been hastily summoned to the bedside of his brother, reported dying, returns a moment after he has set out for a key which has been accidently dropped from his bunch and finds Cinthio and Elaria. The gallant can only escape by pretending to be a lunatic brought to the house for medical treatment and cure. But during the doctor's subsequent absence, whilst the two lovers are, as they suppose, securely entertaining their mistresses, the father is suddenly heard to return. For the moment they evade him by feigning to be figures in a rich tapestry (their masquing habits aiding the trick), which Scaramouch declares he has just purchased. But this sham being discovered, Scaramouch runs off with the candles and all slip away in the darkness and confusion, leaving him to return in his shirt as newly risen from bed. The doctor is bawling for help when the wily servant totters out yawning and rubbing his eyes to explain the whole affair away as a delusion or a vision produced by lunar agency, declaring that there has been a visit from the Moon World of their King and the Prince of Thunderland, who have descended a-courting Elaria and Bellemante. This is borne out by the girls themselves, who have previously been well primed by Mopsophil. After some intriguing between Harlequin and Scaramouch for the duenna's hand, in the course of which the former disguises himself in female attire and again as a country lad, the latter as a learned apothecary, Charmante visits the doctor, and feigning to be a cabalist profound in occult lore, bids him prepare that night to receive Irednozor, monarch of the Moon, and the Prince of Thunderland who will appear to wed his daughter and his niece. Harlequin shortly after makes his entry as an ambassador from the celestial spheres to confirm this news, and as Baliardo, overjoyed, is conversing with him strains of music are heard to herald the arrival of the lunar potentates. All repair to an ancient gallery, long disused, whence the sound proceeds, and here, indeed, a pageant has been secretly arranged. The room is discovered to be richly adorned with costly hangings and pictures, ablaze with lights, and presently, after various masqueraders have appeared dressed as the astronomers Keplair and Galileus, as the different signs of the zodiac, and in other fantastic garbs, Cinthio and Charmante are seen in a silver chariot like a half-moon, attended by a train of heroes and amorini. There is no delay, the lovers are united in matrimony, Baliardo being overwhelmed at the honour done his house. But when Scaramouch and Harlequin fight a ridiculous duel, in which the former wins, for the favour of Mopsophil, the doctor discovers the whole trick, to wit, that the lunar courtiers are in reality his own friends and neighbours. He soon, however, yields to the persuasions of the lovers and the common-sense of his physician, who has taken part in the masque, and, realizing the folly of the fables he has so long implicitly believed, condemns his books to the fire and joins in the nuptial rejoicings with a merry heart.



SOURCE.

Mrs. Behn's farce is derived from Arlequin Empereur dans la Lune, which was played in Paris by Guiseppe-Domenico Biancolelli, a famous Harlequin and the leading member of the Italian theatre there from 1660 to 1688. The original Italian scenes from which the French farce is taken belonged to that impromptu Comedy, 'Commedia dell' Arte all' Improviso,' which so far from being printed was but rarely even committed to writing. 'The development of the intrigue by dialogue and action was left to the native wit of the several players,' writes J.A. Symonds in his excellent and most scholarly introduction prefacing Carlo Gozzi's Memoirs. In the case of a new play, or rather a new theme, the choregus or manager would call the company together, read out the plot, sketch the scenario, explain all business, and leave the dialogue to the humour and smartness of the individual performer. Their aptitude was amazing. In Kyd's Spanish Tragedy we find Heironymo, who wishes to have a subject mounted in a hurry, saying:—

The Italian tragedians were so sharp of wit, That in one hour's meditation They would perform anything in action.

And Lorenzo rejoins:—

I have seen the like In Paris, among the French tragedians.

Of course much was bound to become stereotyped and fixed, but much was ever fluctuating and new.

When Biancolelli died on 2 August, 1688, of pneumonia, contracted through neglecting to change damp clothes, the loss to the Italian theatre seemed irreparable, but in the following year an equally celebrated Harlequin, finer and wittier if not more popular than he, appeared in the person of Evariste Gherardi. Gherardi was a man of culture, and he collected and edited a number of scenes, written in French, which were on the boards intermingled and played with the Italian farces in order to raise the tone of, and give something more solid and durable to, these entertainments. In 1695 three volumes of these scenes were published at Amsterdam, 'chez Adrian Braakman,' under the title _Le Theatre Italien, ou le Recueil de toutes les Comedies et Scenes Francoises qui ont ete jouees sur le Theatre Italien par la Troupe des Comediens du Roy de l'Hotel de Bourgogne a Paris.

Arlequin Empereur dans la Lune_ had been published in its entirety eleven years previously (1684), but it was sufficiently popular for Gherardi to include various scenes therefrom in his collection. Accordingly he commences his first volume by giving the 'Scene de la Fille de Chambre', where Harlequin, disguised as a woman, pretends to be seeking a place as waiting-maid to the Doctor—_Emperor of the Moon_, Act ii, v. In the French, Pierrot, dressed as the Doctor's wife, interviews the applicant. Gherardi also gives a scene between Isabella (Elaria) and Colombine (Mopsophil); a scene where Harlequin arrives tricked out as an Apothecary to win Colombine (in Mrs. Behn it is Scaramouch who thus attempts to gain Mopsophil); and the final scene which differs considerably from the conclusion of the English farce. In Vol. II there are two further extracts 'obmises dans le premier Tome', a dialogue between the Doctor and Harlequin, 'recit que fait Arlequin au Docteur, du Voyage qu'il a fait dans le Monde de la Lune', and a short passage between Harlequin and Colombine, both of which can be closely paralleled in the English version. Mrs. Behn of course used the edition of 1684. Her statement that she only took 'a very barren and thin hint of the Plot' from the Italian, and again that 'all the Words are wholly new, without one from the Original' must not be pressed too strictly, although she has undeniably infused a new life, new wit and humour into the alien scenes.

In Maurice Sand's standard work on Italian comedy, Masques et Bouffons (Paris, 1860) there will be found copious citations from this pantomime, the popularity of which he attributes wholly to Gherardi. It was Biancolelli, however, who first brought it into favour and in whose lifetime it was actually printed, a rare honour, although doubtless it was owing to the great Gherardi that it retained and renewed its success. Gherardi died 31 August, 1700.

As the author himself states in his preface, Harlequin roi dans la Lune, a three act comedy by Bodard de Tezay, produced at the Varietes Amusantes, 17 December, 1785, has nothing to do with the old Italian scenes. An opera by Settle, entitled The World in the Moon, put on at Drury Lane in 1697, is quite different from Mrs. Behn's farce. Settle has written a comedy which deals with the rehearsal of a new opera, The New World in the Moon. Tom Dawkins, a country lout just arrived in London, is taken to the theatre to see the rehearsal, and ordinary comic scenes intermingled with provision for elaborate sets, as the opera proceeds, form the strangest jumble. The piece takes its name from the first operatic scene, which represents a huge silver moon that gradually wanes, whilst a song, 'Within this happy world above', is performed.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.

The Emperor of the Moon, which is certainly as Lowe says 'one of the best pantomimic farces ever seen' on the English boards at any rate, was produced with great success at the Duke's Theatre, Dorset Garden, in 1687. The character of Scaramouch was admirably suited to Tony Leigh, a low comedian 'of the mercurial kind', who 'in humour ... loved to take a full career', whilst Tom Jevon, young, slim and most graceful of dancers, proved the King of all Harlequins, past, present and to come. Lee and Jevon also acted the parts of Scaramouch and Harlequin in Mountford's three act extravaganza, Dr. Faustus (4to 1697), but produced a decade earlier, probably November, 1685. Scaramouch is the necromancer's man, and the comic scenes, although the stage tricks are old, prove very good pantomime. It will be remembered that Harlequin and Scaramouch are to be found in The Rover, Part II. Mrs. Behn's farce kept its place in the repertory and long remained a favourite. On 18 September, 1702, at Drury Lane, Will Pinkethman, complying with the wish of several friends and critics, essayed Harlequin without the traditional black mask, 'but, alas! in vain: Pinkethman could not take to himself the shame of the character without being concealed; he was no more Harlequin; his humour was quite disconcerted; his conscience could not, with the same effrontery, declare against nature, without the cover of that unchanging face, which he was sure would never blush for it; no, it was quite another case; without that armour his courage could not come up to the bold strokes that were necessary to get the better of common sense.'

Amongst the more notable performances of The Emperor of the Moon were two at Dorset Garden on the 16 and 21 November, 1706, when Estcourt acted Scaramouch, and Pinkethman, Harlequin. On 3 September, 1708, at Drury Lane, Bullock was Scaramouch; Bickerstaffe, Harlequin; Johnson, the old Doctor; Powell, Don Cinthio. At Lincoln's Inn Fields, 28 June, 1717, Bullock again sustained Scaramouch and had Spiller as his Harlequin. Four years later, 6 February, 1721, they were acting the same roles at this theatre, with Mrs. Cross as Bellemante, and Quin, Ryan, in the cast. The farce was repeated on 25 October of the same year. Bullock and Spiller kept their favourite parts, Hall was Baliardo; Quin, Cinthio; Ryan, Charmante; Mrs. Egleton, Mopsophil; Mrs. Bullock, Bellemante. Doggett's The Country Wake was played the same night. Ten years later, still at this theatre, on 20 October, 1731, Hall was again Baliardo and Mrs. Egleton, Mopsophil. On this occasion Pinkethman played Harlequin; Hippisley, Scaramouch; Milward, Charmante; and Chapman, Cinthio. The farce was put on as a first piece at Covent Garden, 14 February, 1739. Pinkethman was Harlequin; Rosco, Scaramouch; Arthur, the Doctor; Hallam, Charmante; Hall, Cinthio; Mrs. James, Mopsophil; Mrs. Vincent, Elaria; and the fair Bellamy, Bellemante. In 1748 there was a curious rivalry between the two theatres when both produced The Emperor of the Moon on the same night, 26 December. At Covent Garden, where it was billed 'not acted 10 years', and produced as a first piece at considerable expense with magnificent decorations, Cushing played Harlequin; Dunstall, Scaramouch; Sparks, Baliardo; Ryan, Charmante; Delane, Cinthio; Peg Woffington, Bellemante; and the Bellamy, Elaria. It was, however, a dead failure and only acted twice. Contrary to expectation Cushing was very bad as Harlequin, whilst at Drury Lane Woodward was excellent. At the Lane, where it was played with Mrs. Centlivre's A Bold Stroke for a Wife and billed 'not acted 20 years', Yates took Scaramouch; Palmer, Charmante; King, Cinthio; Winstone, Baliardo; Miss Murgatroyd, Bellemante; and the inimitable Mrs. Green, Mopsophil. A great effect was produced when Harlequin is tossed in a blanket, Act iii. Two long strips were sewn to the sides of the blanket by which he held. From the front, however, they were invisible, and as it seemed that Woodward was being thrown to a dangerous height this spectacle immensely pleased the galleries.

In 1777 The Emperor of the Moon, very unnecessarily altered and by no means bettered 'with the addition of several airs, duets, and choruses selected from other compositions' (8vo, 1777), was produced at the Patagonian Theatre. This theatre was situated in Exeter Change, Strand, on a portion of the site of Burleigh House, the town house of the great Lord Treasurer, which was afterwards known as Exeter House. It is very doubtful if the theatre existed as such later than 1779.

There is an amusing reference to The Emperor of the Moon in The Spectator, No. 22 (Steele), Monday, 26 March, 1711. 'Your most humble servant, William Serene' writes to Mr. Spectator bewailing the fact that nobody on the stage rises according to merit. Although grown old in the playhouse service, and having often appeared on the boards, he has never had a line given him to speak. None the less 'I have acted', he asserts, 'several Parts of Household-stuff with great Applause for many years: I am one of the Men in the Hangings in the Emperour of the Moon.' [The allusion is of course to Act ii, III.] Ralph Simple, Serene's friend, in a subsequent letter begs that upon the gentleman's promotion to speaking parts 'I may succeed him in the Hangings, with my Hand in the Orange-trees'. These humorous allusions are ample evidence of the popularity of Mrs. Behn's pantomime and the frequency with which it was performed.



TO THE LORD MARQUESS OF WORCESTER, &.

My Lord

It is a common Notion, that gathers as it goes, and is almost become a vulgar Error, That Dedications in our Age, are only the effects of Flattery, a form of Complement, and no more; so that the Great, to whom they are only due, decline those Noble Patronages that were so generally allow'd the Ancient Poets; since the Awful Custom has been so scandaliz'd by mistaken Addresses, and many a worthy piece is lost for want of some Honourable Protection, and sometimes many indifferent ones traverse the World with that advantagious Pasport only.

This humble Offering, which I presume to lay at your Lordship's Feet, is of that Critical Nature, that it does not only require the Patronage of a great Title, but a great Man too, and there is often times a vast difference between these two great things; and amongst all the most Elevated, there are but very few in whom an illustrious Birth and equal Parts compleat the Hero; but among these, your Lordship bears the first Rank, from a just Claim, both of the glories of your Race and Vertues. Nor need we look back into long past Ages, to bring down to ours the Magnanimous deeds of your Ancestors: We need no more than to behold (what we have so often done with wonder) those of the Great Duke of Beauford, your Illustrious Father, whose every single Action is a glorious and lasting President to all the future Great; whose unshaken Loyalty, and all other eminent Vertues, have rendred him to us, something more than Man, and which alone, deserving a whole Volume, wou'd be here but to lessen his Fame, to mix his Grandeurs with those of any other; and while I am addressing to the Son, who is only worthy of that Noble Blood he boasts, and who gives the World a Prospect of those coming Gallantries that will Equal those of his Glorious Father; already, My Lord, all you say and do is admir'd, and every touch of your Pen reverenc'd; the Excellency and Quickness of your Wit, is the Subject that fits the World most agreeably. For my own part, I never presume to contemplate your Lordship, but my Soul bows with a perfect Veneration to your Mighty Mind; and while I have ador'd the delicate Effects of your uncommon Wit, I have wish'd for nothing more than an Opportunity of expressing my infinite Sense of it; and this Ambition, my Lord, was one Motive of my present Presumption in Dedicating this Farce to your Lordship.

I am sensible, my Lord, how far the Word Farce might have offended some, whose Titles of Honour, a Knack in dressing, or his Art in writing a Billet Doux, had been his chiefest Talent, and who, without considering the Intent, Character, or Nature of the thing, wou'd have cry'd out upon the Language, and have damn'd it (because the Persons in it did not all talk like Heros) as too debas'd and vulgar as to entertain a Man of Quality; but I am secure from this Censure, when your Lordship shall be its Judge, whose refin'd Sence, and Delicacy of Judgment, will, thro' all the humble Actions and trivialness of Business, find Nature there, and that Diversion which was not meant for the Numbers, who comprehend nothing beyond the Show and Buffoonry.

A very barren and thin hint of the Plot I had from the Italian, and which, even as it was, was acted in _France_ eighty odd times without intermission. 'Tis now much alter'd, and adapted to our English Theatre and Genius, who cannot find an Entertainment at so cheap a Rate as the French will, who are content with almost any Incoherences, howsoever shuffled together under the Name of a Farce; which I have endeavour'd as much as the thing wou'd bear, to bring within the compass of Possibility and Nature, that I might as little impose upon the Audience as I cou'd; all the Words are wholly new, without one from the Original. 'Twas calculated for His late Majesty of Sacred Memory, that Great Patron of Noble Poetry, and the Stage, for whom the Muses must for ever mourn, and whose Loss, only the Blessing of so Illustrious a Successor can ever repair; and 'tis a great Pity to see that best and most useful Diversion of Mankind, whose Magnificence of old, was the most certain sign of a flourishing State, now quite undone by the Misapprehension of the Ignorant, and Mis-representing of the Envious, which evidently shows the World is improv'd in nothing but Pride, Ill Nature, and affected Nicety; and the only Diversion of the Town now, is high Dispute, and publick Controversies in Taverns, Coffee-houses, &. and those things which ought to be the greatest Mysteries in Religion, and so rarely the Business of Discourse, are turn'd into Ridicule, and look but like so many fanatical Stratagems to ruine the Pulpit as well as the Stage. The Defence of the first is left to the Reverend Gown, but the departing Stage can be no otherwise restor'd, but by some leading Spirits, so Generous, so Publick, and so Indefatigable as that of your Lordship, whose Patronages are sufficient to support it, whose Wit and Judgment to defend it, and whose Goodness and Quality to justifie it; such Encouragement wou'd inspire the Poets with new Arts to please, and the Actors with Industry. 'Twas this that occasion'd so many Admirable Plays heretofore, as Shakespear's, Fletcher's_, and _Johnson's_, and 'twas this alone that made the Town able to keep so many Play-houses alive, who now cannot supply one. However, My Lord, I, for my part, will no longer complain, if this Piece find but favour in your Lordship's Eyes, and that it can be so happy to give your Lordship one hour's Diversion, which is the only Honour and Fame is wish'd to crown the Endeavours of,

My Lord, Your Lordship's Most Humble, and Most Obedient Servant, A. BEHN.



THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON.

PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mr. Jevern.

_Long, and at vast Expence, th'industrious Stage Has strove to please a dull ungrateful Age: With Heroes and with Gods we first began, And thunder'd to you in heroick Strain: Some dying Love-sick Queen each Night you injoy'd, And with Magnificence at last were cloy'd: Our Drums and Trumpets frighted all the Women; Our Fighting scar'd the Beaux and Billet-Doux Men. So Spark in an Intrigue of Quality, Grows weary of his splendid Drudgery; Hates the Fatigue, and cries a Pox upon her, What a damn'd Bustle's here with Love and Honour?

In humbler Comedy we next appear, No Fop or Cuckold, but slap-dash we had him here; We showed you all, but you malicious grown, Friends Vices to expose, and hide your own; Cry, damn it This is such, or such a one. Yet nettled, Plague, what does the Scribler mean? With his damn'd Characters, and Plot obscene. No Woman without Vizard in the Nation Can see it twice, and keep her reputation That's certain, Forgetting That he himself, in every gross Lampoon, Her leuder Secrets spread about the Town; Whilst their feign'd Niceness is but cautious Fear, Their own Intrigues should be unravel'd here.

Our next Recourse was dwindling down to Farce, Then Zounds, what Stuff's here? 'tis all o'er my Well, Gentlemen, since none of these has sped, Gad, we have bought a Share i'th' speaking Head. So there you'll save a Sice, You love good Husbandry in all but Vice; Whoring and drinking only bears a Price. _

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

Oh!—Oh!—Oh!

Stentor. Oh!—Oh!—Oh!

[After this it sings Sawny, laughs, crys God bless the King in order.

Stentor answers.

Speak louder, Jevern, if you'd have me repeat; Plague of this Rogue, he will betray the Cheat. [He speaks louder, it answers indirectly. —Hum—There 'tis again, Pox of your Eccho with a Northern Strain. Well—This will be but a nine days Wonder too; There's nothing lasting but the Puppets Show. What Ladies Heart's so hard, but it would move, To hear Philander and Irene's Love? Those Sisters too the scandalous Wits do say, Two nameless keeping Beaux have made so gay; But those Amours are perfect Sympathy, Their Gallants being as mere Machines as they. Oh! how the City Wife, with her nown Ninny, Is charm'd with, Come into my Coach,—Miss Jenny, Miss Jenny. But overturning—Frible crys—Adznigs, The jogling Rogue has murder'd all his Kids. The Men of War cry, Pox on't, this is dull, We are for rough Sports,—Dog Hector, and the Bull. Thus each in his degree, Diversion finds, Your Sports are suited to your mighty Minds; Whilst so much Judgment in your Choice you show, The Puppets have more Sense than some of you.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

Doctor Baliardo, Mr. Underhill. Scaramouch, his Man, Mr. Lee. Pedro, his Boy. Don Cinthio, Don Charmante, both Nephews Young Mr. Powel. to the Vice-Roy, and Lovers of Elaria and Mr. Mumford. Bellemante, Harlequin, Cinthio's Man, Mr. Jevern. Officer and Clerk. Page.

WOMEN.

Elaria, Daughter to the Doctor, Mrs. Cooke. Bellemante, Niece to the Doctor, Mrs. Mumford. Florinda, Cousin to Elaria and Bellemante. Mopsophil, Governante to the young Ladies, Mrs. Cory. The Persons in the Moon, are Don Cinthio, Emperor; Don Charmante, Prince of Thunderland. Their Attendants, Persons that represent the Court Cards. Keplair and Galileus, two Philosophers. Twelve Persons, representing the Figures of the twelve Signs of the Zodiack. Negroes, and Persons that dance. Musick, Kettle-Drums, and Trumpets.

The SCENE, NAPLES.



ACT I.

SCENE I. A Chamber.

Enter Elaria and Mopsophil.

I.

A Curse upon that faithless Maid, Who first her Sex's Liberty betray'd; Born free as Man to Love and Range, Till nobler Nature did to Custom change, Custom, that dull excuse for Fools, Who think all Virtue to consist in Rules.

II.

From Love our Fetters never sprung; That smiling God, all wanton, gay and young, Shows by his Wings he cannot be Confined to a restless Slavery; But here and there at random roves, Not fix'd to glittering Courts, or shady Groves.

III.

Then she that Constancy profess'd Was but a well Dissembler at the best; And that imaginary Sway She feign'd to give, in seeming to obey, Was but the height of prudent Art, To deal with greater liberty her Heart.

[After the Song Elaria gives her Lute to Mopsophil.

Ela. This does not divert me; Nor nothing will, till Scaramouch return, And bring me News of Cinthio.

Mop. Truly I was so sleepy last Night, I know nothing of the Adventure, for which you are kept so close a Prisoner to day, and more strictly guarded than usual.

Ela. Cinthio came with Musick last Night under my Window, which my Father hearing, sallied out with his Mirmidons upon him; and clashing of Swords I heard, but what hurt was done, or whether Cinthio were discovered to him, I know not; but the Billet I sent him now by Scaramouch will occasion me soon Intelligence.

Mop. And see, Madam, where your trusty Roger comes.

Enter Scaramouch, peeping on all sides before he enters.

You may advance, and fear none but your Friends.

Scar. Away, and keep the door.

Ela. Oh, dear Scaramouch! hast thou been at the Vice-Roy's?

Scar. Yes, yes. [In heat.

Ela. And hast thou delivered my Letter to his Nephew, Don Cinthio?

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

Ela. Well—and how does he?

Scar. Lord, how should he do? Why, what a laborious thing it is to be a Pimp? [Fanning himself with his Cap.

Ela. Why, well he shou'd do.

Scar. So he is, as well as a Night-adventuring Lover can be,—he has got but one Wound, Madam.

Ela. How! wounded say you? Oh Heavens! 'tis not mortal.

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

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

Scar. Why, Madam, he is run—quite through the Heart,—but the Man may live, if I please.

Ela. Thou please! torment me not with Riddles.

Scar. Why, Madam, there is a certain cordial Balsam, call'd a Fair Lady; which outwardly applied to his Bosom, will prove a better cure than all your Weapon or sympathetick Powder, meaning your Ladyship.

Ela. Is Cinthio then not wounded?

Scar. No otherwise than by your fair Eyes, Madam; he got away unseen and unknown.

Ela. Dost know how precious time is, and dost thou fool it away thus? What said he to my Letter?

Scar. What should he say?

Ela. Why, a hundred dear soft things of Love, kiss it as often, and bless me for my Goodness.

Scar. Why, so he did.

Ela. Ask thee a thousand Questions of my Health after my last night's fright.

Scar. So he did.

Ela. Expressing all the kind concern Love cou'd inspire, for the Punishment my Father has inflicted on me, for entertaining him at my Window last night.

Scar. All this he did.

Ela. And for my being confin'd a Prisoner to my Apartment, without the hope or almost possibility of seeing him any more.

Scar. There I think you are a little mistaken; for besides the Plot that I have laid to bring you together all this Night,—there are such Stratagems a brewing, not only to bring you together, but with your Father's consent too; such a Plot, Madam—

Ela. Ay, that would be worthy of thy Brain; prithee what?—

Scar. Such a Device—

Ela. I'm impatient.

Scar. Such a Conundrum,—Well, if there be wise Men and Conjurers in the World, they are intriguing Lovers.

Ela. Out with it.

Scar. You must know, Madam, your Father (my Master, the Doctor) is a little whimsical, romantick, or Don-Quicksottish, or so.

Ela. Or rather mad.

Scar. That were uncivil to be supposed by me; but lunatic we may call him, without breaking the Decorum of good Manners; for he is always travelling to the Moon.

Ela. And so religiously believes there is a World there, that he Discourses as gravely of the People, their Government, Institutions, Laws, Manners, Religion, and Constitution, as if he had been bred a Machiavel there.

Scar. How came he thus infected first?

Ela. With reading foolish Books, Lucian's Dialogue of the Lofty Traveller, who flew up to the Moon, and thence to Heaven; an heroick Business, call'd The Man in the Moon, if you'll believe a Spaniard, who was carried thither, upon an Engine drawn by wild Geese; with another Philosophical Piece, A Discourse of the World in the Moon; with a thousand other ridiculous Volumes, too hard to name.

Scar. Ay, this reading of Books is a pernicious thing. I was like to have run mad once, reading Sir John Mandevil;—but to the business,—I went, as you know, to Don Cinthio's Lodgings, where I found him with his dear Friend Charmante, laying their Heads together for a Farce.

Ela. Farce!

Scar. Ay, a Farce, which shall be call'd,—The World in the Moon: Wherein your Father shall be so impos'd on, as shall bring matters most magnificently about.

Ela. I cannot conceive thee, but the Design must be good, since Cinthio and Charmante own it.

Scar. In order to this, Charmante is dressing himself like one of the Caballists of the Rosycrusian Order, and is coming to prepare my credulous Master for the greater Imposition. I have his Trinkets here to play upon him, which shall be ready.

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

Scar. Here, here, in this very House; I am to order the Decorations, adorn a Stage, and place Scenes proper.

Ela. How can this be done without my Father's Knowledge?

Scar. You know the old Apartment next the great Orchard, and the Worm-eaten Gallery that opens to the River; which place for several Years no body has frequented; there all things shall be acted proper for our purpose.

Enter Mopsophil running.

Mop. Run, run, Scaramouch, my Master's conjuring for you like mad below, he calls up all his little Devils with horrid Names, his Microscope, his Horoscope, his Telescope, and all his Scopes.

Scar. Here, here,—I had almost forgot the Letters; here's one for you, and one for Mrs. Bellemante. [Runs out.

Enter Bellemante with a Book.

Bell. Here, take my Prayer-Book, Oh Ma tres chere. [Embraces her.

Ela. Thy Eyes are always laughing, Bellemante.

Bell. And so would yours, had they been so well employ'd as mine, this morning. I have been at the Chapel, and seen so many Beaus, such a number of Plumeys, I cou'd not tell which I should look on most; sometimes my Heart was charm'd with the gay Blonding, then with the melancholy Noire, anon the amiable Brunet; sometimes the bashful, then again the bold; the little now, anon the lovely tall: In fine, my Dear, I was embarass'd on all sides, I did nothing but deal my Heart tout autour.

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

Bell. No, but abundance of pleasure.

Ela. Why, this is better than sighing for Charmante.

Bell. That's when he's present only, and makes his Court to me; I can sigh to a Lover, but will never sigh after him:—but Oh, the Beaus, the Beaus, Cousin, that I saw at Church.

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

Bell. And so I had; for I did nothing but admire its Handy-work, but I cou'd not have pray'd heartily, if I had been dying; but a duce on't, who shou'd come in and spoil all but my Lover Charmante, so dress'd, so gallant, that he drew together all the scatter'd fragments of my Heart, confin'd my wandering Thoughts, and fixt 'em all on him: Oh, how he look'd, how he was dress'd!

SINGS.

Chevalier a Cheveux blonds, Plus de Mouche, plus de Poudre, Plus de Ribons et Cannons.

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

Ela. Thou'rt still in Tune, when wilt thou be tame, Bellemante?

Bell. When I am weary of loving, Elaria.

Ela. To keep up your Humour, here's a Letter from your Charmante.

Bellemante reads.

Malicious Creature, when wilt thou cease to torment me, and either appear less charming, or more kind? I languish when from you, and am wounded when I see you, and yet I am eternally courting my Pain. Cinthio and I, are contriving how we shall see you to Night. Let us not toil in vain; we ask but your consent; the Pleasure will be all ours, 'tis therefore fit we suffer all the Fatigue. Grant this, and love me, if you will save the Life of Your Charmante.

—Live then, Charmante! Live as long as Love can last!

Ela. Well, Cousin, Scaramouch tells me of a rare design's a hatching, to relieve us from this Captivity; here are we mew'd up to be espous'd to two Moon-calfs for ought I know; for the Devil of any human thing is suffer'd to come near us without our Governante and Keeper, Mr. Scaramouch.

Bell. Who, if he had no more Honesty and Conscience than my Uncle, wou'd let us pine for want of Lovers: but thanks be prais'd, the Generosity of our Cavaliers has open'd their obdurate Hearts with a Golden Key, that lets 'em in at all Opportunities. Come, come, let's in, and answer their Billet-Doux.

[Exeunt.



SCENE II. A Garden.

Enter Doctor, with all manner of Mathematical Instruments hanging at his Girdle; Scaramouch bearing a Telescope twenty (or more) Foot long.

Doct. Set down the Telescope.—Let me see, what Hour is it?

Scar. About six a Clock, Sir.

Doct. Then 'tis about the Hour that the great Monarch of the Upper World enters into his Closet; Mount, mount the Telescope.

Scar. What to do, Sir?

Doct. I understand, at certain moments critical, one may be snatch'd of such a mighty consequence, to let the Sight into the Secret Closet.

Scar. How, Sir, peep into the King's Closet! under favour, Sir, that will be something uncivil.

Doct. Uncivil! it were flat Treason if it should be known; but thus unseen, and as wise Politicians shou'd, I take survey of all: This is the Statesman's Peeping-hole, thorow which he steals the Secrets of his King, and seems to wink at distance.

Scar. The very Key-hole, Sir, thorow which, with half an Eye, he sees him even at his Devotion, Sir.

[A knocking at the Garden-gate.

Doct. Take care none enter.

[Scar. goes to the Door.

Scar. Oh, Sir, Sir, here's some strange great Man come to wait on you.

Doct. Great Man! from whence?

Scar. Nay, from the Moon-World, for ought I know, for he looks not like the People of the lower Orb.

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

[Exit Scar.

Enter Scaramouch bare, bowing before Charmante, dress'd in a strange fantastical Habit, with Harlequin; salutes the Doctor.

Char. Doctor Baliardo, most learned Sir, all Hail! Hail from the great Caballa of Eutopia.

Doct. Most reverend Bard, thrice welcome. [Salutes him low.

Char. The Fame of your great Learning, Sir, and Virtue is known with Joy to the renown'd Society.

Doct. Fame, Sir, has done me too much Honour, to bear my Name to the renown'd Caballa.

Char. You must not attribute it all to Fame, Sir, they are too learned and wise to take up things from Fame, Sir: our Intelligence is by ways more secret and sublime, the Stars, and little Daemons of the Air inform us all things, past, present, and to come.

Doct. I must confess the Count of Gabalis renders it plain, from Writ divine and humane, there are such friendly and intelligent Daemons.

Char. I hope you do not doubt that Doctrine, Sir, which holds that the Four Elements are peopled with Persons of a Form and Species more divine than vulgar Mortals—those of the fiery Regions we call the Salamanders, they beget Kings and Heroes, with Spirits like their Deietical Sires; the lovely Inhabitants of the Water, we call Nymphs; those of the Earth are Gnomes or Fairies; those of the Air are Sylphs. These, Sir, when in Conjunction with Mortals, beget immortal Races; such as the first-born Man, which had continu'd so, had the first Man ne'er doated on a Woman.

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

Char. Most certain, Sir, Man was to have been immortaliz'd by the Love and Conversation of these charming Sylphs and Nymphs, and Women by the Gnomes and Salamanders, and to have stock'd the World with Demi-Gods, such as at this Day inhabit the Empire of the Moon.

Doct. Most admirable Philosophy and Reason!—But do these Sylphs and Nymphs appear in Shapes?

Char. The most beautiful of all the Sons and Daughters of the Universe: Fancy, Imagination is not half so charming: And then so soft, so kind! but none but the Caballa and their Families are blest with their divine Addresses. Were you but once admitted to that Society—

Doct. Ay, Sir, what Virtues or what Merits can accomplish me for that great Honour?

Char. An absolute abstinence from carnal thought, devout and pure of Spirit; free from Sin.

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

Char. Are you very secret?

Doct. 'Tis my first Principle, Sir.

Char. And one, the most material in our Rosycrusian order.—Please you to make a Tryal?

Doct. As how, Sir, I beseech you?

Char. If you be thorowly purg'd from Vice, the Opticles of your Sight will be so illuminated, that glancing through this Telescope, you may behold one of these lovely Creatures, that people the vast Region of the Air.

Doct. Sir, you oblige profoundly.

Char. Kneel then, and try your strength of Virtue. Sir,—Keep your Eye fix'd and open. [He looks in the Telescope.

[While he is looking, Charmante goes to the Door to Scaramouch, who waited on purpose without, and takes a Glass with a Picture of a Nymph on it, and a Light behind it; that as he brings it, it shews to the Audience. Goes to the end of the Telescope.

—Can you discern, Sir?

Doct. Methinks, I see a kind of glorious Cloud drawn up—and now, 'tis gone again.

Char. Saw you no Fuger?

Doct. None.

Char. Then make a short Prayer to Alikin, the Spirit of the East; shake off all earthly Thoughts, and look again.

[He prays. Charmante puts the Glass into the Mouth of the Telescope.

Doct.—Astonish'd, ravish'd with Delight, I see a Beauty young and Angel-like, leaning upon a Cloud.

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

Doct. Now a Cloud veils her from me.

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

Doct. I am all Rapture, Sir, at this rare Vision—is't possible, Sir, that I may ever hope the Conversation of so divine a Beauty?

Char. Most possible, Sir; they will court you, their whole delight is to immortalize—Alexander was begot by a Salamander, that visited his Mother in the form of a Serpent, because he would not make King Philip jealous; and that famous Philosopher Merlin was begotten on a Vestal Nun, a certain King's Daughter, by a most beautiful young Salamander; as indeed all the Heroes, and Men of mighty Minds are.

Doct. Most excellent!

Char. The Nymph Egeria, inamour'd on Numa Pompilius, came to him invisible to all Eyes else, and gave him all his Wisdom and Philosophy. Zoroaster, Trismegistus, Apuleius, Aquinius, Albertus Magnus, Socrates and Virgil had their Zilphid, which the Foolish call'd their Daemon or Devil. But you are wise, Sir.

Doct. But do you imagine, Sir, they will fall in love with an old Mortal?

Char. They love not like the Vulgar, 'tis the immortal Part they doat upon.

Doct. But, Sir, I have a Niece and Daughter which I love equally, were it not possible they might be immortaliz'd?

Char. No doubt on't, Sir, if they be pure and chaste.

Doct. I think they are, and I'll take care to keep 'em so; for I confess, Sir, I would fain have a Hero to my Grandson.

Char. You never saw the Emperor of the Moon, Sir, the mighty Iredonozar?

Doct. Never, Sir; his Court I have, but 'twas confusedly too.

Char. Refine your Thoughts, Sir, by a Moment's Prayer, and try again.

[He prays. Char. claps the Glass with the Emperor on it, he looks in and sees it.

Doct. It is too much, too much for mortal Eyes! I see a Monarch seated on a Throne—but seems most sad and pensive.

Char. Forbear then, Sir; for now his Love-Fit's on, and then he wou'd be private.

Doct. His Love-Fit, Sir!

Char. Ay, Sir, the Emperor's in love with some fair Mortal.

Doct. And can he not command her?

Char. Yes, but her Quality being too mean, he struggles, though a King, 'twixt Love and Honour.

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

Char. 'Tis yet unknown, Sir, to the Caballists, who now are using all their Arts to find her, and serve his Majesty; but now my great Affair deprives me of you: To morrow, Sir, I'll wait on you again; and now I've try'd your Virtue, tell you Wonders.

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

[Charmante goes out. Doctor waits on him to the Door, and returns: to him Scaramouch. All this while Harlequin was hid in the Hedges, peeping now and then, and when his Master went out he was left behind.

Scar. So, so, Don Charmante has played his Part most exquisitely; I'll in and see how it works in his Pericranium. —Did you call, Sir?

Doct. Scaramouch, I have, for thy singular Wit and Honesty, always had a Tenderness for thee above that of a Master to a Servant.

Scar. I must confess it, Sir.

Doct. Thou hast Virtue and Merit that deserves much.

Scar. Oh Lord, Sir!

Doct. And I may make thee great;—all I require, is, that thou wilt double thy diligent Care of my Daughter and my Niece; for there are mighty things design'd for them, if we can keep 'em from the sight of Man.

Scar. The sight of Man, Sir!

Doct. Ay, and the very Thoughts of Man.

Scar. What Antidote is there to be given to a young Wench, against the Disease of Love and Longing?

Doct. Do you your Part, and because I know thee discreet and very secret, I will hereafter discover Wonders to thee. On pain of Life, look to the Girls; that's your Charge.

Scar. Doubt me not, Sir, and I hope your Reverence will reward my faithful Services with Mopsophil, your Daughter's Governante, who is rich, and has long had my Affection, Sir.

[Harlequin peeping, cries Oh Traitor!

Doct. Set not thy Heart on transitory Mortal, there's better things in store—besides, I have promis'd her to a Farmer for his Son.—Come in with me, and bring the Telescope.

[Ex. Doctor and Scaramouch.

Harlequin comes out on the Stage.

Har. My Mistress Mopsophil to marry a Farmer's Son! What, am I then forsaken, abandon'd by the false fair One? If I have Honour, I must die with Rage; Reproaching gently, and complaining madly. It is resolv'd, I'll hang my self—No, when did I ever hear of a Hero that hang'd him self?—No, 'tis the Death of Rogues. What if I drown my self?—No, Useless Dogs and Puppies are drown'd; a Pistol or a Caper on my own Sword wou'd look more nobly, but that I have a natural Aversion to Pain. Besides, it is as vulgar as Rats-bane, or the slicing of the Weasand. No, I'll die a Death uncommon, and leave behind me an eternal Fame. I have somewhere read an Author, either antient or modern, of a Man that laugh'd to death.—I am very ticklish, and am resolv'd to die that Death.—Oh, Mopsophil, my cruel Mopsophil! [Pulls off his Hat, Sword and Shoes. And now, farewel the World, fond Love, and mortal Cares.

[_He falls to tickle himself, his Head, his Ears, his Armpits, Hands, Sides, and Soles of his Feet; making ridiculous Cries and Noises of Laughing several ways, with Antick Leaps and Skips, at last falls down as dead.

Enter_ Scaramouch.

Scar. Harlequin was left in the Garden, I'll tell him the News of Mopsophil. [Going forward, tumbles over him. Ha, what's here? Harlequin dead! [Heaving him up, he flies into a Rage.

Har. Who is't that thus wou'd rob me of my Honour?

Scar. Honour, why I thought thou'dst been dead.

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

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

Har. I know it, Sir, I know it, and that thou art as false as she: Was't not a Covenant between us, that neither shou'd take advantage of the other, but both shou'd have fair play, and yet you basely went to undermine me, and ask her of the Doctor; but since she's gone, I scorn to quarrel for her—But let's like loving Brothers, hand in hand, leap from some Precipice into the Sea.

Scar. What, and spoil all my Clothes? I thank you for that; no, I have a newer way: you know I lodge four pair of Stairs high, let's ascend hither, and after saying our Prayers—

Har. Prayers! I never heard of a dying Hero that ever pray'd.

Scar. Well, I'll not stand with you for a Trifle—Being come up, I'll open the Casement, take you by the Heels, and sling you out into the Street; after which, you have no more to do, but to come up and throw me down in my turn.

Har. The Atchievement's great and new; but now I think on't, I'm resolv'd to hear my Sentence from the Mouth of the perfidious Trollop, for yet I cannot credit it.

I'll to the Gipsy, though I venture banging, To be undeceiv'd, 'tis hardly worth the hanging.

[Exeunt.



SCENE III. The Chamber of Bellemante.

Enter Scaramouch groping.

Scar. So, I have got rid of my Rival, and shall here get an Opportunity to speak with Mopsophil; for hither she must come anon, to lay the young Lady's Night-things in order; I'll hide my self in some Corner till she come. [Goes on to the further side of the Stage.

Enter Harlequin groping.

Har. So, I made my Rival believe I was gone, and hid my self till I got this Opportunity to steal to Mopsophil's Apartment, which must be hereabouts; for from these Windows she us'd to entertain my Love. [Advances.

Scar. Ha, I hear a soft Tread,—if it were Mopsophil's, she wou'd not come by dark.

[Harlequin advancing runs against a Table, and almost strikes himself backwards.

Har. What was that?—a Table, there I may obscure my self. [Groping for the Table. What a Devil, is it vanish'd?

Scar. Devil,—vanish'd! What can this mean? 'Tis a Man's Voice.—If it should be my Master the Doctor now, I were a dead Man;—he can't see me; and I'll put my self into such a Posture, that if he feel me, he shall as soon take me for a Church Spout as a Man.

[He puts himself into a Posture ridiculous, his Arms a-kimbo, his Knees wide open, his Backside almost touching the Ground, his Mouth stretched wide, and Eyes staring. Har. groping thrusts his Hand into his Mouth, he bites him, the other dares not cry out.

Har. Ha, what's this? all Mouth, with twenty rows of Teeth.—Now dare not I cry out, lest the Doctor shou'd come, find me here, and kill me—I'll try if it be mortal.

[Making damnable Faces and signs of Pain, he draws a Dagger. Scar. feels the Point of it, and shrinks back, letting go his Hand.

Scar. Who the Devil can this be? I felt a Poniard, and am glad I sav'd my Skin from pinking. [Steals out.

[Harlequin groping about, finds the Table, on which there is a Carpet, and creeps under it, listening.

Enter Bellemante, with a Candle in one Hand, and a Book in the other.

Bell. I am in a Belle Humor for Poetry to-night; I'll make some Boremes on Love. [She writes and studies. Out of a great Curiosity,—A Shepherd did demand of me.— No, no,—A Shepherd this implor'd of me. [Scratches out, and writes a-new. Ay, ay, so it shall go.—Tell me, said he, can you resign?— Resign, ay, what shall rhyme to Resign?—Tell me, said he.— [She lays down the Tablets, and walks about.

[Harlequin peeps from under the Table, takes the Book, writes in it, and lays it up before she can turn.

[Reads.] Ay, ay, so it shall be,—Tell me, said he, my Bellemante; Will you be kind to your Charmante? [Reads those two lines, and is amaz'd. Ha, Heav'ns! What's this? I am amaz'd! —And yet I'll venture once more. [Writes and studies. —I blushed and veil'd my wishing Eyes. [Lays down the Book, and walks as before. —Wishing Eyes! [Har. writes as before. [She turns and takes the Tablet. —And answer'd only with my Sighs. Ha! What is this? Witchcraft, or some Divinity of Love? Some Cupid sure invisible. Once more I'll try the Charm. [Writes. —Cou'd I a better way my Love impart? [Studies and walks. —Impart— [He writes as before. —And without speaking, tell him all my Heart. —'Tis here again, but where's the Hand that writ it? [Looks about. —The little Deity that will be seen But only in his Miracles. It cannot be a Devil, For here's no Sin nor Mischief in all this.

Enter Charmante. She hides the Tablet, he steps to her, and snatches it from her and reads.

Char. reads.

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, 'Tis 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 'em, 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.