Chapter 85

_Enter_ Scaramouch _in a Chair, which is set down and open’d on all sides, and on the top represents an Apothecary’s Shop, the Inside being painted with Shelves, and rows of Pots and Bottles_; Scaramouch _sitting in it dress’d in Black, with a short black Cloke, a Ruff, and little Hat_.

_Scar_. The Devil’s in’t, if either the Doctor, my Master, or _Mopsophil_, know me in this Disguise--And thus I may not only gain my Mistress, and out-wit _Harlequin_, but deliver the Ladies those Letters from their Lovers, which I took out of his Pocket this Morning; and who wou’d suspect an Apothecary for a Pimp?--Nor can the Jade _Mopsophil_, in Honour, refuse a Person of my Gravity, and so well set up.-- [_Pointing to his Shop_. --Hum, the Doctor here first, this is not so well, but I’m prepar’d with Impudence for all Encounters.

_Enter the_ Doctor. Scaramouch _salutes him gravely_.

--Most Reverend Doctor _Baliardo_. [_Bows_.

_Doct_. Seignior-- [_Bows_.

_Scar_. I might through great Pusillanimity, blush to give you this Anxiety, did not I opine you were as gracious as communicative and eminent; and though you have no Cognisance of me, your humble Servant,--yet I have of you,--you being so gravely fam’d for your admirable Skill both in Galenical and Paracelsian _Phaenomena’s_, and other approv’d Felicities in Vulnerary Emeticks, and purgative Experiences.

_Doct_. Seignior,--your Opinion honours me--rare Man this.

_Scar_. And though I am at present busied in writing--those few Observations I have accumulated in my Peregrinations, Sir; yet the Ambition I aspir’d to, of being an ocular and aurial Witness of your Singularity, made me trespass on your sublimer Affairs.

_Doct_. Seignior--

_Scar_.--Besides a violent Inclination, Sir, of being initiated into the Denomination of your learned Family, by the Conjugal Circumference of a Matrimonial Tye, with that singularly accomplish’d Person--Madam, the Governante of your Hostel--

_Doct_. Hum--A Sweet-heart for _Mopsophil_! [_Aside_.

_Scar_. And if I may obtain your Condescension to my Hymenaeal Propositions, I doubt not my Operation with the Fair One.

_Doct_. Seignior, she’s much honour’d in the Overture, and my Abilities shall not be wanting to fix the Concord.--But have you been a Traveller, Sir?

_Scar_. Without Circumlocutions, Sir, I have seen all the Regions beneath the Sun and Moon.

_Doct_. Moon, Sir! You never travell’d thither, Sir?

_Scar_. Not in _Propria Persona, Seignior_, but by Speculation, I have, and made most considerable Remarks on that incomparable _Terra Firma_, of which I have the compleatest Map in Christendom--and which _Gonzales_ himself omitted in his _Cosmographia_ of the _Lunar Mundus_.

_Doct_. A Map of the _Lunar Mundus_, Sir! may I crave the Honour of seeing it?

_Scar_. You shall, Sir, together with a Map of _Terra Incognita_; a great Rarity, indeed, Sir.

_Enter_ Bellemante.

_Doct_. Jewels, Sir, worth a King’s Ransom!

_Bell_. Ha,--What Figure of a Thing have we here, bantering my credulous Uncle?--This must be some Scout sent from our _Forlorn Hope_, to discover the Enemy, and bring in fresh Intelligence.--Hum, that Wink tipt me some Tidings, and she deserves not a good Look, who understands not the Language of the Eyes.--Sir, Dinner’s on the Table.

_Doct_. Let it wait, I am employ’d--

[_She creeps to the other side of_ Scaramouch, _who makes Signs with his Hand to her_.

_Bell_. Ha, ‘tis so:--This Fellow has some Novel for us, some Letter or Instructions, but how to get it--

[_As_ Scar. _talks to the_ Doctor, _he takes the Letters by degrees out of his Pocket, and unseen, given ‘em_ Bellemante _behind him_.

_Doct_. But this Map, Seignior; I protest you have fill’d me with Curiosity. Has it signify’d all things so exactly, say you?

_Scar_. Omitted nothing, Seignior, no City, Town, Village, or Villa; no Castle, River, Bridge, Lake, Spring, or Mineral.

_Doct_. Are any, Sir, of those admirable Mineral Waters there, so frequent in our World?

_Scar_. In abundance, Sir: the Famous _Garamanteen_, a young _Italian_, Sir, lately come from thence, gives an account of an excellent _Scaturigo_, that has lately made an Ebulation there, in great Reputation with the Lunary Ladies.

_Doct_. Indeed, Sir! be pleas’d, Seignior, to ‘solve me some Queries that may enode some appearances of the Virtue of the Water you speak of.

_Scar_. Pox upon him, what Questions he asks--but I must on. [_Aside_.] Why, Sir, you must know,--the Tincture of this Water upon Stagnation ceruleates, and the Crocus upon the Stones flaveces; this he observes --to be, Sir, the Indication of a generous Water.

_Doct_. Hum-- [_Gravely nodding_.

_Scar_. Now, Sir, be pleas’d to observe the three Regions: if they be bright, without doubt _Mars_ is powerful; if the middle Region or Camera be palled, _Filia Solis_ is breeding.

_Doct_. Hum.

_Scar_. And then the third Region, if the Faeces be volatile, the Birth will soon come _in Balneo_. This I observed also in the Laboratory of that ingenious Chymist _Lysidono_, and with much Pleasure animadverted that Mineral of the same Zenith and Nadir, of that now so famous Water in _England_, near that famous Metropolis, call’d _Islington_.

_Doct_. Seignior--

_Scar_. For, Sir, upon the Infusion, the Crows Head immediately procures the Seal of _Hermes_; and had not _Lac Virginis_ been too soon suck’d up, I believe we might have seen the Consummation of _Amalgama_.

[Bellemante _having got her Letters, goes off. She makes Signs to him to stay a little. He nods_.

_Doct_. Most likely, Sir.

_Scar_. But, Sir, this _Garamanteen_ relates the strangest Operation of a Mineral in the Lunar World, that ever I heard of.

_Doct_. As how, I pray, Sir?

_Scar_. Why, Sir, a Water impregnated to a Circulation with _prima Materia_; upon my Honour, Sir, the strongest I ever drank of.

_Doct_. How, Sir! did you drink of it?

_Scar_. I only speak the words of _Garamanteen_, Sir. --Pox on him, I shall be trapt. [_Aside_.

_Doct_. Cry Mercy, Sir.-- [_Bows_.

_Scar_. The Lunary Physicians, Sir, call it _Urinam Vulcani_, it calybeates every ones Excrements more or less according to the Gradus of the natural Calor.--To my Knowledge, Sir, a Smith of a very fiery Constitution is grown very opulent by drinking these Waters.

_Doct_. How, Sir, grown rich by drinking the Waters, and to your Knowledge?

_Scar_. The Devil’s in my Tongue. To my Knowledge, Sir; for what a Man of Honour relates, I may safely affirm.

_Doct_. Excuse me, Seignior-- [_Puts off his Hat again gravely_.

_Scar_. For, Sir, conceive me how he grew rich! since he drank those Waters he never buys any Iron, but hammers it out of _Stercus Proprius_.

_Enter_ Bellemante _with a Billet_.

_Bell_. Sir, ‘tis three a Clock, and Dinner will be cold.

[_Goes behind_ Scaramouch, _and gives him the Note and goes out_.

_Doct_. I come, Sweet-heart; but this is wonderful.

_Scar_. Ay, Sir, and if at any time Nature be too infirm, and he prove Costive, he has no more to do, but apply a Load-stone _ad Anum_.

_Doct_. Is’t possible?

_Scar_. Most true, Sir, and that facilitates the Journey _per Viscera_. --But I detain you, Sir;--another time, Sir,--I will now only beg the Honour of a Word or two with the Governante, before I go.

_Doct_. Sir, she shall wait on you, and I shall be proud of the Honour of your Conversation. [_Ex_. Doctor.

_Enter to him_ Harlequin, _dress’d like a Farmer, as before_.

_Har_. Hum--What have we here, a Taylor or a Tumbler?

_Scar_. Ha--Who’s this?--Hum--What if it shou’d be the Farmer that the Doctor has promis’d _Mopsophil_ to? My Heart misgives me. [_They look at each other a while_. Who wou’d you speak with, Friend?

_Har_. This is, perhaps, my Rival the Apothecary.--Speak with, Sir! why, what’s that to you?

_Scar_. Have you Affairs with Seignor Doctor, Sir?

_Har_. It may be I have, it may be I have not. What then, Sir?

_While they seem in angry Dispute, enter_ Mopsophil.

_Mop_. Seignior Doctor tells me I have a Lover waits me, sure it must be the Farmer or the Apothecary. No matter which, so a Lover that welcomest Man alive. I am resolv’d to take the first good Offer, though but in revenge of _Harlequin_ and _Scaramouch_, for putting Tricks upon me. --Ha,--Two of ‘em!

_Scar_. My Mistress here!

[_They both bow, and advance, putting each other by_.

_Mop_. Hold, Gentlemen,--do not worry me. Which of you wou’d speak with me?

_Both_. I, I, I, Madam--

_Mop_. Both of you?

_Both_. No, Madam, I, I.

_Mop_. If both Lovers, you are both welcome; but let’s have fair Play, and take your turns to speak.

_Har_. Ay, Seignior, ‘tis most uncivil to interrupt me.

_Scar_. And disingenuous, Sir, to intrude on me.

[_Putting one another by_.

_Mop_. Let me then speak first.

_Har_. I’m dumb.

_Scar_. I acquiesce.

_Mop_. I was inform’d there was a Person here had Propositions of Marriage to make me.

_Har_. That’s I, that’s I-- [_Shoves_ Scar. _away_.

_Scar_. And I attend to that consequential _Finis_. [_Shoves_ Har. _away_.

_Har_. I know not what you mean by your Finis, Seignior; but I am come to offer my self this Gentlewoman’s Servant, her Lover, her Husband, her Dog in a Halter, or any thing.

_Scar_. Him I pronounce a Paltroon, and an ignominious Utensil, that dare lay claim to the renowned Lady of my _Primum Mobile_; that is, my best Affections. [_In Rage_.

_Har_. I fear not your hard Words, Sir, but dare aloud pronounce, if _Donna Mopsophil_ like me, the Farmer, as well as I like her, ‘tis a Match, and my Chariot’s ready at the Gate to bear her off, d’ye see.

_Mop_. Ah, how that Chariot pleads. [_Aside_.

_Scar_. And I pronounce, that being intoxicated with the sweet Eyes of this refulgent Lady, I come to tender her my noblest Particulars, being already most advantageously set up with the circumstantial Implements of my Occupation. [_Points to the Shop_.

_Mop_. A City Apothecary, a most genteel Calling--Which shall I chuse? --Seignior Apothecary, I’ll not expostulate the circumstantial Reasons that have occasion’d me this Honour.

_Scar_. Incomparable Lady, the Elegancy of your Repartees most excellently denotes the Profundity of your Capacity.

_Har_. What the Devil’s all this? Good Mr. Conjurer, stand by--and don’t fright the Gentlewoman with your elegant Profundities. [_Puts him by_.

_Scar_. How, a Conjurer! I will chastise thy vulgar Ignorance, that yclepes a Philosopher a Conjurer. [_In Rage_.

_Har_. Losaphers!--Prithee, if thou be’st a Man, speak like a Man--then.

_Scar_. Why, what do I speak like? what do I speak like?

_Har_. What do you speak like!--why you speak like a Wheel-Barrow.

_Scar_. How!

_Har_. And how.

[_They come up close together at half Sword Parry; stare on each other for a while, then put up and bow to each other civilly_.

_Mop_. That’s well, Gentlemen, let’s have all Peace, while I survey you both, and see which likes me best.

[_She goes between ‘em, and surveys ‘em both, they making ridiculous bows on both sides, and Grimaces the while_.

--Ha, now on my Conscience, my two foolish Lovers, _Harlequin_ and _Scaramouch_; how are my Hopes defeated?--but, faith, I’ll fit you both. [_She views ‘em both_.

_Scar_. So she’s considering still, I shall be the happy Dog. [_Aside_.

_Har_. She’s taking aim, she cannot chuse but like me best. [_Aside_.

_Scar_. Well, Madam, how does my Person propagate? [_Bowing and smiling_.

_Mop_. Faith, Seignior, now I look better on you, I do not like your Phisnomy so well as your Intellects; you discovering some circumstantial Symptoms that ever denote a villanous Inconstancy.

_Scar_. Ah, are you pleas’d, Madam.

_Mop_. You are mistaken, Seignior. I am displeas’d at your Grey-Eyes, and black Eye-brows, and Beard; I never knew a Man with those Signs, true to his Mistress or his Friend. And I wou’d sooner wed that Scoundrel _Scaramouch_, that very civil Pimp, that mere pair of chymical Bellows that blow the Doctor’s projecting Fires, that Deputy-urinal Shaker, that very Guzman of _Salamanca_. than a Fellow of your infallible _Signum Mallis_.

_Har_. Ha, ha, ha, you have your Answer, Seignior Friskin--and may shut up your Shop and be gone.--Ha, ha, ha.

_Scar_. Hum, sure the Jade knows me. [_Aside_.

_Mop_. And as for you, Seignior--

_Har_. Ha, Madam. [_Bowing and smiling_.

_Mop_. Those Lanthorn Jaws of yours, with that most villanous Sneer and Grin, and a certain fierce Air of your Eyes, looks altogether most fanatically--which with your notorious Whey Beard, are certain Signs of Knavery and Cowardice; therefore I’ad rather wed that Spider _Harlequin_, that Sceleton Buffoon, that Ape of Man, that Jack of Lent, that very Top, that’s of no use, but when ‘tis whip’d and lash’d, that piteous Property I’ad rather wed than thee.

_Har_. A very fair Declaration.

_Mop_. You understand me--and so adieu, sweet Glisterpipe, and Seignior Dirty-Boots, Ha, ha, ha. [_Runs out_.

[_They stand looking simply on each other, without speaking a while_.

_Scar_. That I shou’d not know that Rogue _Harlequin_. [_Aside_.

_Har_. That I shou’d take this Fool for a Physician. [_Aside_. --How long have you commenc’d Apothecary, Seignior?

_Scar_. Ever since you turn’d Farmer.--Are not you a damn’d Rogue to put these Tricks upon me, and most dishonourably break all Articles between us?

_Har_. And are not you a dam’d Son of a--something--to break Articles with me?

_Scar_. No more Words, Sir, no more Words, I find it must come to Actions, draw. [_Draws_.

_Har_. Draw!--so I can draw, Sir. [_Draws_.

[_They make a ridiculous cowardly Fight. Enter the Doctor, which they seeing, come on with more Courage. He runs between, and with his Cane beats the Swords down_.

_Doct_. Hold, hold, what mean you, Gentlemen?

_Scar_. Let me go, Sir, I am provok’d beyond measure, Sir.

_Doct_. You must excuse me, Seignior. [_Parlies with Harlequin_.

_Scar_. I dare not discover the Fool for his Master’s sake, and it may spoil our Intrigue anon; besides, he’ll then discover me, and I shall be discarded for bantering the Doctor. [_Aside_. --Man of Honour to be so basely affronted here.

[_The_ Doctor _comes to appease_ Scaramouch.

_Har_. Shou’d I discover this Rascal, he wou’d tell the old Gentleman I was the same that attempted his House to day in Woman’s Clothes, and I should be kick’d and beaten most insatiably.

_Scar_. What, Seignior, for a Man of Parts to be impos’d upon, and whip’d through the Lungs here--like a Mountebank’s Zany for sham Cures --Mr. Doctor, I must tell you ‘tis not civil.

_Doct_. I am extremely sorry for it, Sir,--and you shall see how I will have this fellow handled for the Affront to a Person of your Gravity, and in my House.--Here, _Pedro_.

_Enter_ Pedro.

--Take this Intruder, or bring some of your Fellows hither, and toss him in a Blanket.

[_Exit_ Pedro.

[Har. _going to creep away_, Scar, _holds him_.

_Har_. Hark ye, bring me off, or I’ll discover all your Intrigue. [Aside to _him_.

_Scar_. Let me alone.

_Doct_. I’ll warrant you some Rogue that has some Plot on my Niece and Daughter.

_Scar_. No, no, Sir, he comes to impose the grossest Lye upon you, that ever was heard of.

_Enter_ Pedro _with others, with a Blanket. They put_ Harlequin _into it, and toss him_.

_Har_. Hold, hold, I’ll confess all, rather than indure it.

_Doct_. Hold, what will you confess, Sir.

[_He comes out, makes sick Faces_.

_Scar_.--That he’s the greatest Impostor in Nature. Wou’d you think it, Sir? he pretends to be no less than an Ambassador from the Emperor of the Moon, Sir.

_Doct_. Ha, Ambassador from the Emperor of the Moon! [_Pulls off his Hat_.

_Scar_. Ay, Sir, thereupon I laugh’d, thereupon he grew angry--I laugh’d at his Resentment, and thereupon we drew, and this was the high Quarrel, Sir.

_Doct_. Hum--Ambassador from the Moon. [_Pauses_.

_Scar_. I have brought you off, manage him as well as you can.

_Har_. Brought me off, yes, out of the Frying-pan into the Fire. Why, how the Devil shall I act an Ambassador? [_Aside_.

_Doct_. It must be so, for how shou’d either of these know I expected that Honour? [_He addresses him with profound Civility to_ Har. Sir, if the Figure you make, approaching so near ours of this World, have made us commit any undecent Indignity to your high Character, you ought to pardon the Frailty of our mortal Education and Ignorance, having never before been bless’d with the Descension of any from your World.

_Har_. What the Devil shall I say now? [_Aside_. --I confess I am, as you may see by my Garb, Sir, a little _Incognito_, because the publick Message I bring is very private--which is, that the mighty _Iredonozor_, Emperor of the Moon, with his most worthy Brother, the Prince of _Thunderland_, intend to sup with you to Night.--Therefore be sure you get good Wine.--Though by the way let me tell you, ‘tis for the sake of your fair Daughter.

_Scar_. I’ll leave the Rogue to his own Management. I presume, by your whispering, Sir, you wou’d be private, and humbly begging pardon, take my leave. [_Exit_.

_Har_. You have it, Friend. Does your Niece and Daughter drink, Sir?

_Doct_. Drink, Sir?

_Har_. Ay, Sir, drink hard?

_Doct_. Do the Women of your World drink hard, Sir?

_Har_. According to their Quality, Sir, more or less; the greater the Quality, the more profuse the Quantity.

_Doct_. Why, that’s just as ‘tis here; but your Men of Quality, your Statesmen, Sir, I presume they are sober, learned, and wise.

_Har_. Faith, no, Sir; but they are, for the most part, what’s as good, very proud and promising, Sir, most liberal of their Word to every fauning Suiter, to purchase the state of long Attendance, and cringing as they pass; but the Devil of a Performance, without you get the Knack of bribing in the right Place and Time; but yet they all defy it, Sir.

_Doct_. Just, just, as ‘tis here.--But pray, Sir, how do these Great men live with their Wives?

_Har_. Most nobly, Sir, my Lord keeps his Coach, my Lady hers; my Lord his Bed, my Lady hers; and very rarely see one another, unless they chance to meet in a Visit, in the _Park_, the _Mall_, the _Tour_, or at the _Basset-Table_, where they civilly salute and part, he to his Mistress, she to play.

_Doct_. Good lack! just as ‘tis here.

_Har_.--Where, if she chance to lose her Money, rather than give out, she borrows of the next amorous Coxcomb, who, from that Minute, hopes, and is sure to be paid again one way or other, the next kind Opportunity.

_Doct_.--Just as ‘tis here.

_Har_. As for the young Fellows that have Money, they have no Mercy upon their own Persons, but wearing Nature off as fast as they can, Swear, and Whore and Drink, and borrow as long as any Rooking Citizen will lend till, having dearly purchased the heroick Title of a Bully or a Sharper, they live pity’d of their Friends, and despis’d by their Whores, and depart this Transitory World, diverse and sundry ways.

_Doct_. Just, just as ‘tis here!

_Har_. As for the Citizen, Sir, the Courtier lies with his Wife; he in revenge, cheats him of his Estate, till rich enough to marry his Daughter to a Courtier, again gives him all--unless his Wife’s over-gallantry breaks him; and thus the World runs round.

_Doct_. The very same ‘tis here--Is there no preferment, Sir, for Men of Parts and Merit?

_Har_. Parts and Merit! what’s that? a Livery, or the handsome tying a Cravat; for the great Men prefer none but their Foot-men and Valets.

_Doct_. By my Troth, just as ‘tis here.--Sir, I find you are a Person of most profound Intelligence--under Favour, Sir, are you a Native of the Moon, or this World?

_Har_. The Devil’s in him for hard Questions. --I am a _Neapolitan_, Sir?

_Doct_. Sir, I Honour you; good luck, my Countryman! How got you to the Region of the Moon, Sir?

_Har_. A plaguy inquisitive old Fool! --Why, Sir, --Pox on’t, what shall I say? --I being--one day in a musing Melancholy, walking by the Sea-side-- there arose, Sir, a great Mist, by the Sun’s exhaling of the Vapours of the Earth, Sir.

_Doct_. Right, Sir.

_Har_. In this Fog, or Mist, Sir, I was exhal’d.

_Doct_. The Exhalations of the Sun draw you to the Moon, Sir?

_Har_. I am condemn’d to the Blanket again. --I say, Sir, I was exhal’d up, but in my way--being too heavy, was drop’d into the Sea.

_Doct_. How, Sir, into the Sea?

_Har_. The Sea, Sir, where the Emperor’s Fisherman casting his Nets, drew me up, and took me for a strange and monstrous Fish, Sir,--and as such, presented me to his Mightiness,--who going to have me Spitchcock’d for his own eating--

_Doct_. How, Sir, eating?

_Har_. What did me I, Sir (Life being sweet) but fall on my Knees, and besought his Gloriousness not to eat me, for I was no Fish, but a Man; he ask’d me of what Country, I told him of _Naples_; whereupon the Emperor overjoy’d ask’d me if I knew that most reverend and learned Doctor _Baliardo_, and his fair Daughter. I told him I did: whereupon he made me his Bed-fellow, and the Confident to his Amour to Seigniora _Elaria_.

_Doct_. Bless me, Sir! how came the Emperor to know my Daughter?

_Har_. There he is again with his damn’d hard Questions. --Know her, Sir,--Why--you were walking abroad one day.

_Doct_. My Daughter never goes abroad, Sir, farther than our Garden.

_Har_. Ay, there it was indeed, Sir,--and as his Highness was taking a Survey of this lower World--through a long Perspective, Sir,--he saw you and your Daughter and Neice, and from that very moment fell most desperately in love.--But hark, the sound of Timbrels, Kettle-Drums and Trumpets.--The Emperor, Sir, is on his way, prepare for his Reception.

[_A strange Noise is heard of Brass Kettles, and Pans, and Bells, and many tinkling things_.

_Doct_. I’m in a Rapture--How shall I pay my Gratitude for this great Negotiation?--but as I may, I humbly offer, Sir. [_Presents him with a rich Ring and a Purse of Gold_.

_Har_. Sir, as an Honour done the Emperor, I take your Ring and Gold. I must go meet his Highness. [_Takes leave_.

_Enter to him_ Scaramouch, _as himself_.

_Scar_. Oh, Sir! we are astonish’d with the dreadful sound of the sweetest Musick that ever Mortal heard, but know not whence it comes. Have you not heard it, Sir?

_Doct_. Heard it, yes, Fool,--’tis the Musick of the Spheres, the Emperor of the Moon World is descending.

_Scar_. How, Sir, no marvel then, that looking towards the South, I saw such splendid Glories in the Air.

_Doct_. Ha, saw’st thou ought descending in the Air?

_Scar_. Oh, yes, Sir, Wonders! haste to the old Gallery, whence, with the help of your Telescope, you may discover all.

_Doct_. I would not lose a moment for the lower Universe.

_Enter_ Elaria, Bellemante, Mopsophil, _dressed in rich Antick Habits_.

_Ela_. Sir, we are dress’d as you commanded us, what is your farther Pleasure?

_Doct_. It well becomes the Honour you’re design’d for, this Night to wed two Princes--come with me and know your happy Fate.

[_Ex_. Doctor _and_ Scar.

_Ela_. Bless me! My Father, in all the rest of his Discourse shows so much Sense and Reason, I cannot think him mad, but feigns all this to try us.

_Bell_. Not mad! Marry, Heavens forbid, thou art always creating Fears to startle one; why, if he be not mad, his want of Sleep this eight and forty hours, the Noise of strange unheard of Instruments, with the fantastick Splendour of the unusual Sight, will so turn his Brain and dazzle him, that in Grace and Goodness, he may be mad, if he be not;-- come, let’s after him to the Gallery, for I long to see in what showing Equipage our princely Lovers will address to us.

[_Exeunt_.