Chapter 81

is only a Curtain or Hangings, to be drawn up at Pleasure_.

_Enter_ Elaria, Bellemante, Mopsophil, Florinda, _and Ladies, dress’d in Masking Habits_.

_Ela_. I am extremely pleas’d with these Habits, Cousin.

_Bell_. They are _à la Gothic_ and _Uncommune_.

_Flor_. Your Lovers have a very good Fancy, Cousin, I long to see ‘em.

_Ela_. And so do I. I wonder _Scaramouch_ stays so, and what Success he has.

_Bell_. You have no cause to doubt, you can so easily acquit your self; but I, what shall I do? who can no more imagine who shou’d write those Boremes, than who I shall love next, if I break off with _Charmante_.

_Flor_. If he be a Man of Honour, Cousin, when a Maid protests her Innocence--

_Bell_. Ay, but he’s a Man of Wit too, Cousin, and knows when Women protest most, they likely lye most.

_Ela_. Most commonly, for Truth needs no asseveration.

_Bell_. That’s according to the Disposition of your Lover, for some believe you most, when you most abuse and cheat ‘em; some are so obstinate, they wou’d damn a Woman with Protesting, before she can convince ‘em.

_Ela_. Such a one is not worth convincing, I wou’d not make the World wise at the expence of a Virtue.

_Bell_. Nay, he shall e’en remain as Heaven made him for me, since there are Men enough for all uses.

_Enter_ Charmante _and_ Cinthio, _dress’d in their Gothic Habits_, Scaramouch, Harlequin _and Musick_. Charmante _and_ Cinthio _kneel_.

_Cin_. Can you forgive us?

[Elaria _takes him up_.

_Bell_. That, _Cinthio_, you’re convinc’d, I do not wonder; but how _Charmante_ is inspir’d, I know not.

[_Takes him up_.

_Char_. Let it suffice, I’m satisfy’d, my _Bellemante_.

_Ela_. Pray know my Cousin _Florinda_.

[_They salute the Lady_.

_Bell_. Come, let us not lose time, since we are all Friends.

_Char_. The best use we can make of it, is to talk of Love.

_Bell_. Oh! we shall have time enough for that hereafter; besides, you may make Love in Dancing as well as in Sitting; you may gaze, sigh, and press the Hand, and now and then receive a Kiss, what wou’d you more?

_Char_. Yes, wish a little more.

_Bell_. We were unreasonable to forbid you that cold Joy, nor shall you wish long in vain, if you bring Matters so about, to get us with my Uncle’s Consent.

_Ela_. Our Fortunes depending solely on his Pleasure, which are too considerable to lose.

_Cin_. All things are order’d as I have written you at large; our Scenes and all our Properties are ready; we have no more to do but to banter the old Gentleman into a little more Faith, which the next Visit of our new Cabalist _Charmante_ will complete.

[_The Musick plays_.

_Enter some Anticks, and dance. They all sit the while_.

_Ela_. Your Dancers have performed well, but ‘twere fit we knew who we have trusted with this Evening’s Intrigue.

_Cin_. Those, Madam, who are to assist us in carrying on a greater Intrigue, the gaining of you. They are our Kinsmen.

_Ela_. Then they are doubly welcome.

[_Here is a Song in Dialogue, with Flute Doux and Harpsicals, between a Shepherd and Shepherdess; which ended, they all dance a Figure Dance_.

_Cin_. Hark, what Noise is that? sure ‘tis in the next Room.

_Doctor [Within.] Scaramouch, Scaramouch_!

[Scaramouch _runs to the Door, and holds it fast_.

_Scar_. Ha,--the Devil in the likeness of my old Master’s Voice, for it is impossible it should be he himself.

_Char_. If it be he, how got he in? did you not secure the Doors?

_Ela_. He always has a Key to open ‘em. Oh! what shall we do? there’s no escaping him; he’s in the next Room, through which you are to pass.

_Doct. [Within.] Scaramouch_, Knave, where are you?

_Scar_. ‘Tis he, ‘tis he, follow me all--

[_He goes with all the Company behind the Front Curtain_.

_Doct. [Within.]_ I tell you, Sirrah, I heard the noise of Fiddles.

_Peter. [_Within.]_ No surely, Sir, ‘twas a Mistake.

[_Knocking at the Door_.

[Scaramouch _having placed them all in the Hanging, in which they make the Figures, where they stand without Motion in Postures, he comes out. He opens the Door with a Candle in his Hand_.

_Enter the_ Doctor _and_ Peter _with a Light_.

_Scar_. Bless me, Sir! Is it you--or your Ghost?

_Doct_. ‘Twere good for you, Sir, if I were a thing of Air; but as I am a substantial Mortal, I will lay it on as substantially-- [_Canes him. He cries_.

_Scar_. What d’ye mean, Sir? what d’ye mean?

_Doct_. Sirrah, must I stand waiting your Leisure, while you are roguing here? I will reward ye. [_Beats him_.

_Scar_. Ay, and I shall deserve it richly, Sir, when you know all.

_Doct_. I guess all, Sirrah, and I heard all, and you shall be rewarded for all. Where have you hid the Fiddles, you Rogue?

_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir!

_Doct_. Ay, Fiddles, Knave.

_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir!--Where?

_Doct_. Here, here I heard ‘em, thou false Steward of thy Master’s Treasure.

_Scar_. Fiddles, Sir! Sure ‘twas Wind got into your Head, and whistled in your Ears, riding so late, Sir.

_Doct_. Ay, thou false Varlet, there’s another debt I owe thee, for bringing me so damnable a Lye: my Brother’s well--I met his Valet but a League from Town, and found thy Roguery out. [_Beats him. He cries_.

_Scar_. Is this the Reward I have for being so diligent since you went?

_Doct_. In what, thou Villain? in what?

[_The Curtain is drawn up, and discovers the Hangings where all of them stand_.

_Scar_. Why, look you, Sir, I have, to surprize you with Pleasure, against you came home, been putting up this Piece of Tapestry, the best in Italy, for the Rareness of the Figures, Sir.

_Doct_. Ha! hum--It is indeed a Stately Piece of Work; how came I by ‘em?

_Scar_. ‘Twas sent your Reverence from the _Virtuoso_, or some of the Cabalists.

_Doct_. I must confess, the Workmanship is excellent;--but still I do insist I heard the Musick.

_Scar_. ‘Twas then the tuning of the Spheres, some Serenade, Sir, from the Inhabitants of the Moon.

_Doct_. Hum, from the Moon,--and that may be.

_Scar_. Lord, d’ye think I wou’d deceive your Reverence?

_Doct_. From the Moon, a Serenade,--I see no signs on’t here, indeed it must be so--I’ll think on’t more at leisure. [_Aside_. --Prithee what Story’s this? [_Looks on the Hangings_.

_Scar_. Why, Sir,--’Tis--

_Doct_. Hold up the Candles higher, and nearer.

[Peter _and_ Scaramouch _hold Candles near. He takes a Perspective, and looks through it; and coming nearer_ Harlequin, _who is placed on a Tree in the Hangings, hits him on the Head with his Trunchion. He starts and looks about_. Harlequin _sits still.

_Scar_. Sir--

_Doct_. What was that struck me?

_Scar_. Struck you, Sir! Imagination.

_Doct_. Can my Imagination feel, Sirrah?

_Scar_. Oh, the most tenderly of any part about one, Sir!

_Doct_. Hum--that may be.

_Scar_. Are you a great Philosopher, and know not that, Sir?

_Doct_. This Fellow has a glimpse of Profundity. [_Aside. Looks again_. --I like the Figures well.

_Scar_. You will, when you see ‘em by Day-light, Sir.

[Har. _hits him again. The_ Doctor _sees him_.

_Doct_. Ha,--Is that Imagination too?--Betray’d, betray’d, undone! run for my Pistols, call up my Servants, _Peter_, a Plot upon my Daughter and my Niece!

[_Runs out with_ Peter. Scaramouch _puts out the Candle, they come out of the Hanging, which is drawn away. He places ‘em in a Row just at the Entrance_.

_Scar_. Here, here, fear nothing, hold by each other, that when I go out, all may go; that is, slip out, when you hear the Doctor is come in again, which he will certainly do, and all depart to your respective Lodgings.

_Cin_. And leave thee to bear the Brunt?

_Scar_. Take you no care for that, I’ll put it into my Bill of Charges, and be paid all together.

_Enter the_ Doctor _with Pistols, and_ Peter.

_Doct_. What, by dark? that shall not save you, Villains, Traitors to my Glory and Repose.--_Peter_, hold fast the Door, let none ‘scape.

[_They all slip out_.

_Pet_. I’ll warrant you, Sir.

[Doctor _gropes about, stamps and calls_.

_Doct_. Lights there--Lights--I’m sure they cou’d not ‘scape.

_Pet_. Impossible, Sir.

_Enter_ Scaramouch _undress’d in his Shirt, with a Light; he starts_.

_Scar_. Bless me!--what’s here?

_Doct_. Ha--Who art thou? [_Amaz’d to see him enter so_.

_Scar_. I, who the Devil are you, and you go to that? [_Rubs his Eyes, and brings the Candle nearer, looks on him_. --Mercy upon us!--Why, what, is’t you, Sir, return’d so soon?

_Doct_. Return’d! [_Looking sometimes on him, sometimes about_.

_Scar_. Ay, Sir, did you not go out of Town last night, to your Brother the Advocate?

_Doct_. Thou Villain, thou question’st me, as if thou knew’st not that I was return’d.

_Scar_. I know, Sir! how shou’d I know? I’m sure I am but just awakened from the sweetest Dream.--

_Doct_. You dream still, Sirrah, but I shall wake your Rogueship.--Were you not here but now, shewing me a piece of Tapestry, you Villain?

_Scar_. Tapestry!

[Mopsophil _listning all the while_.

_Doct_. Yes, Rogue, yes, for which I’ll have thy Life. [_Offering a Pistol_.

_Scar_. Are you stark mad, Sir? or do I dream still?

_Doct_. Tell me, and tell me quickly, Rogue, who were those Traitors that were hid but now in the Disguise of a piece of Hangings. [_Holds the Pistol to his Breast_.

_Scar_. Bless me! you amaze me, Sir. What conformity has every Word you say, to my rare Dream! Pray let me feel you, Sir,--Are you human?

_Doct_. You shall feel I am, Sirrah, if thou confess not.

_Scar_. Confess, Sir! What shall I confess?--I understand not your Cabalistical Language; but in mine, I confess that you wak’d me from the rarest Dream--Where methought the Emperor of the Moon World was in our House, dancing and revelling; and methoughts his Grace was fallen desperately in love with Mistriss _Elaria_, and that his Brother, the Prince, Sir, of _Thunderland_, was also in love with Mistriss _Bellemante_; and methoughts they descended to court ‘em in your Absence--And that at last you surpriz’d ‘em, and that they transform’d themselves into a Suit of Hangings to deceive you. But at last, methought you grew angry at something, and they all fled to Heaven again; and after a deal of Thunder and Lightning, I wak’d, Sir, and hearing human Voices here, came to see what the Matter was.

[_This while the_ Doctor _lessens his signs of Rage by degrees, and at last stands in deep Contemplation_.

_Doct_. May I credit this?

_Scar_. Credit it! By all the Honour of your House, by my unseparable Veneration for the Mathematicks, ‘tis true, Sir.

_Doct_. That famous _Rosycrusian_, who yesterday visited me, and told me the Emperor of the Moon was in love with a fair Mortal--This Dream is Inspiration in this Fellow--He must have wondrous Virtue in him, to be worthy of these divine Intelligences. [_Aside_.--But if that Mortal shou’d be _Elaria_! but no more, I dare not yet suppose it--perhaps the thing was real and no Dream, for oftentimes the grosser part is hurried away in Sleep by the force of Imagination, and is wonderfully agitated --This Fellow might be present in his Sleep,--of this we’ve frequent Instances--I’ll to my Daughter and my Niece, and hear what Knowledge they may have of this.

_Mop_. Will you so? I’ll secure you, the Frolick shall go round. [_Aside, and Exit_.

_Doct. Scaramouch_, if you have not deceiv’d me in this Matter, time will convince me farther; if it rest here, I shall believe you false.

_Scar_. Good Sir, suspend your Judgment and your Anger till then.

_Doct_. I’ll do’t, go back to bed.

[_Ex_. Doct. _and_ Peter.

_Scar_. No, Sir, ‘tis Morning now--and I’m up for all day.--This Madness is a pretty sort of pleasant Disease, when it tickles but in one Vein--Why, here’s my Master now, as great a Scholar, as grave and wise a Man, in all Argument and Discourse, as can be met with; yet name but the Moon, and he runs into ridicule, and grows as mad as the Wind.

Well, Doctor, if thou canst be madder yet, We’ll find a Medicine that shall cure your Fit,

--Better than all _Galenicus_.

[_Goes out_.