Chapter 24

CLARIN and MOSCON enter running from opposite sides.

CYPRIAN and The Demon.

CLARIN. Oh! are you sir, alive?

MOSCON. My friend, do you Speak civilly for once as something new? That he's alive requires no demonstration.

CLARIN. I struck this lofty note of admiration, Thou noble lackey, to express my wonder, How from this storm of lightning, rain, and thunder, Without a miracle he could survive.

MOSCON. Will you stop wondering, now you see him alive?

CYPRIAN. These are my servants, sir.-- What brings you here?

MOSCON. Your spleen once more to stir.

DEMON. They have a pleasant humour.

CYPRIAN. Foolish pair, Their weary wit is oft too hard to bear.

MOSCON. This man, sir, waiting here, Who is he?

CYPRIAN. He's my guest, so do not fear.

CLARIN. Wherefore have guests at such a time as this?

CYPRIAN [to The Demon]. Your worth is lost on ignorance such as his.

MOSCON. My master's right. Are you, forsooth, his heir?

CLARIN. No; but our new friend there, Looks like a guest, unless I deceive me, who Will honour our poor house a year or two.

MOSCON. Why?

CLARIN. When a guest soon means to go away, Well, he'll not make much smoke in the house, we say. But this....

MOSCON. Speak out.

CLARIN. Will make, I do not joke..

MOSCON. What?

CLARIN. In the house a deuced deal of smoke.

CYPRIAN. In order to repair The danger done by the rude sea and air, Come thou with me.

DEMON. [Aside.] I'm thine, while thou hast breath.

CYPRIAN. I go to prepare thy rest.

DEMON [aside]. And I thy death:-- An entrance having gained Within his breast, and thus my end obtained; My rage insatiate now without control Seeks by another way to win Justina's soul. [Exit.

CLARIN. Guess, if you can, what I am thinking about.

MOSCON. What is it?

CLARIN. That a new volcano has burst out In the late storm, there's such a sulphur smell.

MOSCON. It came from the guest, as my good nose could tell.

CLARIN. He uses bad pastilles, then; but I can Infer the cause.

MOSCON. What is it?

CLARIN. The poor gentleman Has a slight rash on his skin, a ticklish glow, And uses sulphur ointment.

MOSCON. Gad! 'tis so. [Exeunt.

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