SCENE II.

_A Chamber, a Table with Books and Globes._

KITE _disguised in a strange Habit, sitting at a Table_.

_Kite._ [_Rising._] By the position of the heavens, gained from my observation upon these celestial globes, I find that Luna was a tide-waiter, Sol a surveyor, Mercury a thief, Venus a whore, Saturn an alderman, Jupiter a rake, and Mars a serjeant of grenadiers--and this is the system of Kite the conjurer.

_Enter_ PLUME _and_ WORTHY.

_Plume._ Well, what success?

_Kite._ I have sent away a shoemaker and a tailor already; one's to be a captain of marines, and the other a major of dragoons--I am to manage them at night----Have you seen the lady, Mr. Worthy?

_Wor._ Ay, but it won't do--Have you showed her her name, that I tore off from the bottom of the letter?

_Kite._ No, sir, I reserve that for the last stroke.

_Plume._ What letter?

_Wor._ One that I would not let you see, for fear that you should break windows in good earnest. Here captain, put it into your pocket-book, and have it ready upon occasion. [_Knocking at the Door._

_Kite._ Officers, to your posts. Tycho, mind the door.

[_Exeunt_ PLUME _and_ WORTHY.--SERVANT _opens the Door_.

_Enter_ MELINDA _and_ LUCY.

_Kite._ Tycho, chairs for the ladies.

_Mel._ Don't trouble yourself; we shan't stay, doctor.

_Kite._ Your ladyship is to stay much longer than you imagine.

_Mel._ For what?

_Kite._ For a husband--For your part, madam, you won't stay for a husband. [_To_ LUCY.

_Lucy._ Pray, doctor, do you converse with the stars, or the devil?

_Kite._ With both; when I have the destinies of men in search, I consult the stars; when the affairs of women come under my hands, I advise with my t'other friend.

_Mel._ And have you raised the devil upon my account?

_Kite._ Yes, madam, and he's now under the table.

_Lucy._ Oh, Heavens protect us! Dear madam, let's be gone.

_Kite._ If you be afraid of him, why do ye come to consult him!

_Mel._ Don't fear, fool: do you think, sir, that because I'm a woman I'm to be fooled out of my reason, or frighted out of my senses? Come, show me this devil.

_Kite._ He's a little busy at present, but when he has done he shall wait on you.

_Mel._ What is he doing?

_Kite._ Writing your name in his pocket-book.

_Mel._ Ha! ha! my name! pray what have you or he to do with my name?

_Kite._ Lookye, fair lady! the devil is a very modest person, he seeks nobody unless they seek him first; he's chained up, like a mastiff, and can't stir unless he be let loose--You come to me to have your fortune told--do you think, madam, that I can answer you of my own head? No, madam; the affairs of women are so irregular, that nothing less than the devil can give any account of them. Now to convince you of your incredulity, I'll show you a trial of my skill. Here, you Cacodemo del Plumo, exert your power, draw me this lady's name, the word Melinda, in proper letters and characters of her own hand-writing--do it at three motions--one--two--three--'tis done--Now, madam, will you please to send your maid to fetch it?

_Lucy._ I fetch it! the devil fetch me if I do.

_Mel._ My name, in my own hand-writing! that would be convincing indeed!

_Kite._ Seeing is believing. [_Goes to the Table, and lifts up the Carpet._] Here Tre, Tre, poor Tre, give me the bone, sirrah. There's your name upon that square piece of paper. Behold--

_Mel._ 'Tis wonderful! my very letters to a tittle!

_Lucy._ 'Tis like your hand, madam; but not so like your hand, neither; and now I look nearer 'tis not like your hand at all.

_Kite._ Here's a chambermaid now will outlie the devil!

_Lucy._ Lookye, madam, they shan't impose upon us; people can't remember their hands no more than they can their faces--Come, madam, let us be certain; write your name upon this paper, then we'll compare the two hands. [_Takes out a Paper, and folds it._

_Kite._ Any thing for your satisfaction, madam--Here is pen and ink.

[MELINDA _writes_, LUCY _holds the Paper_.

_Lucy._ Let me see it, madam; 'tis the same--the very same--But I'll secure one copy for my own affairs. [_Aside._

_Mel._ This is demonstration.

_Kite._ 'Tis so, madam--the word demonstration comes from DÊmon, the father of lies.

_Mel._ Well, doctor, I'm convinced: and now, pray, what account can you give of my future fortune?

_Kite._ Before the sun has made one course round this earthly globe, your fortune will be fixed for happiness or misery.

_Mel._ What! so near the crisis of my fate?

_Kite._ Let me see--About the hour of ten to-morrow morning you will be saluted by a gentleman who will come to take his leave of you, being designed for travel; his intention of going abroad is sudden, and the occasion a woman. Your fortune and his are like the bullet and the barrel, one runs plump into the other--In short, if the gentleman travels, he will die abroad, and if he does you will die before he comes home.

_Mel._ What sort of a man is he?

_Kite._ Madam, he's a fine gentleman, and a lover; that is, a man of very good sense, and a very great fool.

_Mel._ How is that possible, doctor?

_Kite._ Because, madam--because it is so--A woman's reason is the best for a man's being a fool.

_Mel._ Ten o'clock, you say?

_Kite._ Ten--about the hour of tea-drinking throughout the kingdom.

_Mel._ Here, doctor. [_Gives Money._] Lucy, have you any questions to ask?

_Lucy._ Oh, madam! a thousand.

_Kite._ I must beg your patience till another time, for I expect more company this minute; besides, I must discharge the gentleman under the table.

_Lucy._ O, pray, sir, discharge us first!

_Kite._ Tycho, wait on the ladies down stairs.

[_Exeunt_ MELINDA _and_ LUCY.

_Enter_ WORTHY _and_ PLUME.

_Kite._ Mr. Worthy, you were pleased to wish me joy to-day; I hope to be able to return the compliment to-morrow.

_Wor._ I'll make it the best compliment to you that ever I made in my life, if you do; but I must be a traveller, you say?

_Kite._ No farther than the chops of the channel, I presume, sir.

_Plume._ That we have concerted already. [_Knocking hard._] Heyday! you don't profess midwifery, doctor?

_Kite._ Away to your ambuscade. [_Exeunt_ WORTHY _and_ PLUME.

_Enter_ BRAZEN.

_Brazen._ Your servant, my dear?

_Kite._ Stand off, I have my familiar already.

_Brazen._ Are you bewitched, my dear?

_Kite._ Yes, my dear! but mine is a peaceable spirit, and hates gunpowder. Thus I fortify myself: [_Draws a Circle round him._] and now, captain, have a care how you force my lines.

_Brazen._ Lines! what dost talk of lines! you have something like a fishing-rod there, indeed; but I come to be acquainted with you, man--What's your name, my dear?

_Kite._ Conundrum.

_Brazen._ Conundrum? rat me! I knew a famous doctor in London of your name--Where were you born?

_Kite._ I was born in Algebra.

_Brazen._ Algebra! 'tis no country in Christendom, I'm sure, unless it be some place in the Highlands in Scotland.

_Kite._ Right--I told you I was bewitched.

_Brazen._ So am I, my dear! I am going to be married--I have had two letters from a lady of fortune, that loves me to madness, fits, cholic, spleen, and vapours----shall I marry her in four and twenty hours, ay or no?

_Kite._ Certainly.

_Brazen._ Gadso, ay----

_Kite._--Or no--but I must have the year and the day of the month when these letters were dated.

_Brazen._ Why, you old bitch! did you ever hear of love letters dated with the year and day of the month? do you think billetdoux are like bank bills?

_Kite._ They are not so good, my dear--but if they bear no date, I must examine the contents.

_Brazen._ Contents! that you shall, old boy! here they be both.

_Kite._ Only the last you received, if you please. [_Takes the Letter._] Now, sir, if you please to let me consult my books for a minute, I'll send this letter enclosed to you with the determination of the stars upon it to your lodgings.

_Brazen._ With all my heart--I must give him--[_Puts his Hands in his Pockets._] Algebra! I fancy, doctor, 'tis hard to calculate the place of your nativity--Here--[_Gives him Money._] And, if I succeed, I'll build a watch-tower on the top of the highest mountain in Wales, for the study of astrology, and the benefit of the Conundrums. [_Exit._

_Enter_ PLUME _and_ WORTHY.

_Wor._ O doctor! that letter's worth a million; let me see it: and now I have it, I'm afraid to open it.

_Plume._ Pho! let me see it. [_Opening the Letter._] If she be a jilt--Damn her, she is one--there's her name at the bottom on't.

_Wor._ How! then I'll travel in good earnest--By all my hopes, 'tis Lucy's hand.

_Plume._ Lucy's!

_Wor._ Certainly--'tis no more like Melinda's character, than black is to white.

_Plume._ Then 'tis certainly Lucy's contrivance to draw in Brazen for a husband--But are you sure 'tis not Melinda's hand?

_Wor._ You shall see; where's the bit of paper I gave you just now that the devil wrote Melinda upon?

_Kite._ Here, sir.

_Plume._ 'Tis plain they are not the same; and is this the malicious name that was subscribed to the letter which made Mr. Balance send his daughter into the country?

_Wor._ The very same: the other fragments I showed you just now.

_Plume._ But 'twas barbarous to conceal this so long, and to continue me so many hours in the pernicious heresy of believing that angelic creature could change. Poor Sylvia!

_Wor._ Rich Sylvia, you mean, and poor captain; ha! ha! ha!--Come, come, friend, Melinda is true, and shall be mine; Sylvia is constant, and may be yours.

_Plume._ No, she's above my hopes----but for her sake, I'll recant my opinion of her sex.

By some the sex is blam'd without design, Light harmless censure, such as yours and mine, Sallies of wit, and vapours of our wine: Others the justice of the sex condemn, And, wanting merit to create esteem, Would hide their own defects by censuring them: But they, secure in their all-conq'ring charms, Laugh at our vain attempts, our false alarms. He magnifies their conquests who complains, For none would struggle, were they not in chains.

[_Exeunt._

ACT THE FIFTH.