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.


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 Théâtre Italien, ou le Recueil de toutes les Comédies et Scènes Françoises qui ont été jouées sur le Théâtre Italien par la Troupe des Comediens du Roy de l’.ôtel de Bourgogne à 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 ‘Scène 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 Tézay, produced at the Variétés 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.


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 rôles 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.


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
                                                        A. BEHN.



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.


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



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.


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.



SCENE I. A Chamber.

Enter Elaria and Mopsophil.


  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


  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


  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 chère. [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!


  Chevalier à 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.


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.


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
  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.


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, ’.is 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.


The End of the First Act.


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 ’.m, 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.

Char. Ha,—What’s the matter here?

Scar. Seignior Don Charmante. [Then he struts courageously in with ‘em.

Char. What, Cinthio in a Rage! Who’s the unlucky Object?

Cin. All Man and Woman Kind: Elaria’s false.

Char. Elaria false! take heed, sure her nice Virtue
Is proof against the Vices of her Sex.
Say rather Bellemante,
She who by Nature’s light and wavering.
The Town contains not such a false Impertinent.
This Evening I surpriz’d her in her Chamber,
Writing of Verses, and between her Lines
Some Spark had newly pen’d his proper Stuff.
Curse of the Jilt, I’ll be her Fool no more.

Har. I doubt you are mistaken in that, Sir, for ‘twas I was the Spark that writ the proper Stuff To do you service.

Char. Thou!

Scar. Ay, we that spend our Lives and Fortunes here to serve you,—to be us’d like Pimps and Scoundrels. Come, Sir, satisfy him who ‘twas was hid i’th’ Closet, when he came in and found you.

Cin. Ha,—is’t possible? Was it Charmante?

Char. Was it you, Cinthio? Pox on’t, what Fools are we, we cou’d not know one another by Instinct?

Scar. Well, well, dispute no more this clear Case, but let’s hasten to your Mistresses.

Cin. I’m asham’d to appear before Elaria.

Char. And I to Bellemante.

Scar. Come, come, take Heart of Grace; pull your Hats down over your Eyes; put your Arms across; sigh and look scurvily; your simple Looks are ever a Token of Repentance: come—come along.

[Exeunt Omnes.

SCENE III. Changes to the Inside of the House. The Front of the Scene 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.

SCENE IV. Draws off to Bellemante’s Chamber, discovers Elaria, Bellemante and Mopsophil in Night-Gowns.

Mop. You have your Lessons, stand to it bravely, and the Town’s our own, Madam.

    [They put themselves in Postures of Sleeping, leaning on the
, Mopsophil lying at their Feet. Enter Doctor softly.

Doct. Ha, not in Bed! this gives me mortal Fears.

Bell. Ah, Prince— [She speaks as in her Sleep.

Doct. Ha, Prince! [Goes nearer, and listens.

Bell. How little Faith I give to all your Courtship, who leaves our Orb so soon. [In a feign’d Voice.

Doct. Ha, said she Orb? [Goes nearer.

Bell. But since you are of a celestial Race,
And easily can penetrate
Into the utmost limits of the Thought,
Why shou’d I fear to tell you of your Conquest?
—And thus implore your Aid.

[Rises and runs to the Doctor; kneels, and holds him fast. He shews signs of Joy.

Doct. I am ravish’d!

Bell. Ah, Prince Divine, take pity on a Mortal.

Doct. I am rapt!

Bell. And take me with you to the World above!

Doct. The Moon, the Moon she means; I am transported, over-joy’d, and ecstasyd! [Leaping and jumping from her Hands, she seems to wake.

Bell. Ha, my Uncle come again to interrupt us!

Doct. Hide nothing from me, my dear Bellemante, since all already is discover’d to me—and more.

Ela. Oh, why have you wak’d me from the softest Dream that ever Maid was blest with?

Doct. What—what, my best Elaria? [With over-joy.

Ela. Methought I entertain’d a Demi-God, one of the gay Inhabitants of the Moon.

Bell. I’m sure mine was no Dream—I wak’d, I heard, I saw, I spoke—and danc’d to the Musick of the Spheres; and methought my glorious Lover ty’d a Diamond Chain about my Arm—and see ‘tis all substantial. [Shows her Arm.

Ela. And mine a Ring, of more than mortal Lustre.

Doct. Heaven keep me moderate! lest excess of Joy shou’d make my Virtue less. [Stifling his Joy. —There is a wondrous Mystery in this, A mighty Blessing does attend your Fates. Go in and pray to the chaste Powers above To give you Virtue for such Rewards. [They go in. —How this agrees with what the learned Cabalist inform’d me of last Night! He said, that great Iredonozor, the Emperor of the Moon, was enamour’d on a fair Mortal. It must be so—and either he descended to court my Daughter personally, which for the rareness of the Novelty, she takes to be a Dream; or else, what they and I beheld, was visionary, by way of a sublime Intelligence:—And possibly—’tis only thus: the People of that World converse with Mortals.—I must be satisfy’d in this main Point of deep Philosophy.

  I’ll to my Study,—for I cannot rest,
  Till I this weighty Mystery have discuss’d.

[Ex. very gravely.

SCENE V. The Garden.

Enter Scaramouch with a Ladder.

Scar. Though I am come off en Cavalier with my Master, I am not with my Mistress, whom I promised to console this Night, and ‘tis but just I shou’d make good this Morning; ‘twill be rude to surprize her sleeping, and more gallant to wake her with a Serenade at her Window.

[Sets the Ladder to her Window, fetches his Lute and goes up the ladder.

He plays and sings this Song.

  When Maidens are young and in their Spring
  Of Pleasure, of Pleasure, let ‘em take their full Swing,
        full Swing,—full Swing,
    And love, and dance, and play, and sing.
Silvia, _believe it, when Youth is done,
  There’s nought but hum drum, hum drum, hum drum;
  There’s nought but hum drum, hum drum, hum drum.

  Then_ Silvia be wise—be wise—be wise,
  Though Painting and Dressing for awhile are Supplies,
        And may—surprise—
    But when the Fire’s going out in your Eyes,
    It twinkles, it twinkles, it twinkles, and dies.
  And then to hear Love, to hear Love from you,
  I’d as live hear an Owl cry—Wit to woo,
    Wit to woo, wit to woo

_Enter Mopsophil above_.

Mop. What woful Ditty-making Mortal’s this,
That e’er the Lark her early Note has sung,
Does doleful Love beneath my Casement thrum?
-Ah, Seignior Scaramouch, is it you?

Scar. Who shou’d it be that takes such pains to sue!

Mop. Ah, Lover most true blue.

Enter Harlequin in Woman’s Clothes.

Har. If I can now but get admittance, I shall not only deliver the young Ladies their Letters from their Lovers, but get some opportunity, in this Disguise, to slip this Billet-Doux into Mopsophil’s Hand, and bob my Comrade Scaramouch.—Ha, What do I see?—My Mistress at the Window, courting my Rival! Ah Gipsy!

Scar. But we lose precious time, since you design me a kind Hour in your Chamber.

Har. Oh Traitor!

Mop. You’ll be sure to keep it from Harlequin.

Har. Ah yes, he, hang him, Fool, he takes you for a Saint.

Scar. Harlequin! Hang him, shotten Herring.

Har. Ay, a Cully, a Noddy.

Mop. A meer Zany.

Har. Ah, hard-hearted Turk.

Mop. Fit for nothing but a Cuckold.

Har. Monster of Ingratitude! How shall I be reveng’d?
                              [Scar, going over the Balcony.
—Hold, hold, thou perjur’d Traitor.
                              [Cries out in a Woman’s Voice.

Mop. Ha, discover’d!—A Woman in the Garden!

Har. Come down, come down, thou false perfidious Wretch.

Scar. Who in the Devil’s Name, art thou? And to whom dost thou speak?

Har. To thee, that false Deceiver, thou hast broke thy Vows, thy lawful Vows of Wedlock. [Bawling out. Oh, oh, that I shou’d live to see the Day. [Crying.

Scar. Who mean you, Woman?

Har. Whom shou’d I mean but thou,—my lawful Spouse?

Mop. Oh Villain! Lawful Spouse!—Let me come to her.

[Scar, comes down, as Mopsophil flings out of the Balcony.

Scar. The Woman’s mad—hark ye, Jade, how long have you been thus distracted?

Har. E’er since I lov’d and trusted thee, false Varlet.—See here, the Witness of my Love and Shame.

[_Bawls, and points to her Belly.

Just then_ Mopsophil enters.

Mop. How! with Child! Out, Villain! was I made a Property?

Scar. Hear me.

Har. Oh, thou Heathen Christian! was not one Woman enough?

Mop. Ay, Sirrah, answer to that.

Scar. I shall be sacrific’d.

Mop. I am resolv’d to marry to morrow—either to the Apothecary or the Farmer, Men I never saw, to be reveng’d on thee, thou termagant Infidel.

Enter the Doctor.

Doct. What Noise, what Out-cry, what Tumult’s this?

Har. Ha, the Doctor!—What shall I do? [Gets to the Door, Scar. pulls her in.

Doct. A Woman! some Baud I am sure;—Woman, what’s your Business here? ha.

Har. I came, an’t like your Seigniorship, to Madam the Governante here, to serve her in the Quality of a Fille de Chambre to the young Ladies.

Doct. A Fille de Chambre! ‘tis so, a she Pimp.

Har. Ah, Seignior— [Makes his little dapper Leg, instead of a Curt’sy.

Doct. How now, what, do you mock me?

Har. Oh Seignior! [Gets nearer the Door.

Mop. Stay, stay, Mistress; and what Service are you able to do the Seignior’s Daughters?

Har. Is this Seignior Doctor Baliardo, Madam?

Mop. Yes.

Har. Oh! he’s a very handsome Gentleman—indeed.

Doct. Ay, ay, what Service can you do, Mistress?

Har. Why, Seignior, I can tie a Crevat the best of any Person in Naples, and I can comb a Periwig—and I can—

Doct. Very proper Service for young Ladies; you, I believe, have been Fille de Chambre to some young Cavaliers?

Har. Most true, Seignior; why shou’d not the Cavaliers keep Filles de Chambre, as well as great Ladies Valets de Chambre?

Doct. Indeed ‘tis equally reasonable.—’Tis a Baud. [Aside. But have you never serv’d Ladies?

Har. Oh yes, I serv’d a Parson’s Wife?

Doct. Is that a great Lady?

Har. Ay, surely, Sir, what is she else? for she wore her Mantuas of Brocade d’or, Petticoats lac’d up to the Gathers, her Points, her Patches, Paints and Perfumes, and sat in the uppermost place in the Church too.

Mop. But have you never serv’d Countesses and Dutchesses?

Har. Oh, yes, Madam; the last I serv’d, was an Alderman’s Wife in the City.

Mop. Was that a Countess or a Dutchess?

Har. Ay, certainly—for they have all the Money; and then for Clothes, Jewels, and rich Furniture, and eating, they out-do the very Vice-Reine her self.

Doct. This is a very ignorant running Baud,—therefore first search her for Billets-Doux, and then have her pump’d.

Har. Ah, Seignior,—Seignior.

[Scar. searches him, finds Letters.

Scar. Ha, to Elaria—and Bellemante! [Reads the Outside, pops ‘em into his Bosom. These are from their Lovers.—Ha, a Note to Mopsophil.—Oh, Rogue! have I found you?

Har. If you have, ‘tis but Trick for your Trick, Seignior Scaramouch, and you may spare the Pumping.

Scar. For once, Sirrah, I’ll bring you off, and deliver your Letters. —Sir, do you not know who this is? Why, ‘tis a Rival of mine, who put on this Disguise to cheat me of Mistress Mopsophil.—See, here’s a Billet to her.

Doct. What is he?

Scar. A Mungrel Dancing-Master; therefore, Sir, since all the Injury’s mine, I’ll pardon him for a Dance, and let the Agility of his Heels save his Bones, with your Permission, Sir.

Doct. With all my Heart, and am glad he comes off so comically.

[Harlequin dances.

[A knocking at the Gate. Scar. goes and returns.

Scar. Sir, Sir, here’s the rare Philosopher who was here yesterday.

Doct. Give him Entrance, and all depart.

Enter Charmante.

Char. Blest be those Stars that first conducted me to so much Worth and Virtue; you are their Darling, Sir, for whom they wear their brightest Lustre. Your Fortune is establish’d, you are made, Sir.

Doct. Let me contain my Joy. [Keeping in an impatient Joy. —May I be worthy, Sir, to apprehend you?

Char. After long searching, watching, fasting, praying, and using all the virtuous means in Nature, whereby we solely do attain the highest Knowledge in Philosophy; it was resolv’d, by strong Intelligence—you were the happy Sire of that bright Nymph, that had infascinated, charm’d, and conquer’d the mighty Emperor Iredonozor, the Monarch of the Moon.

Doct. I am undone with Joy! ruin’d with Transport. [Aside. —Can it—can it, Sir,—be possible? [Stifling his Joy, which breaks out.

Char. Receive the Blessing, Sir, with Moderation.

Doct. I do, Sir, I do.

Char. This very Night, by their great Art, they find,
He will descend, and shew himself in Glory.
An Honour, Sir, no Mortal has receiv’d
This sixty hundred years.

Doct. Hum—say you so, Sir; no Emperor ever descend this sixty hundred years? [Looks sad. —Was I deceiv’d last Night? [Aside.

Char. Oh! yes, Sir, often in Disguise, in several Shapes and Forms, which did of old occasion so many fabulous Tales of all the Shapes of Jupiter—but never in their proper Glory, Sir, as Emperors. This is an Honour only design’d to you.

Doct. And will his Grace—be here in Person, Sir? [Joyful.

Char. In Person—and with him, a Man of mighty Quality, Sir, ‘tis thought, the Prince of Thunderland—but that’s but whisper’d, Sir, in the Cabal, and that he loves your Niece.

Doct. Miraculous! how this agrees with all I’ve seen and heard —To Night, say you, Sir?

Char. So ‘tis conjectur’d, Sir,—some of the Cabalists are of opinion, that last Night there was some Sally from the Moon.

Doct. About what Hour, Sir?

Char. The Meridian of the Night, Sir, about the Hours of Twelve or One; but who descended, or in what Shape, is yet uncertain.

Doct. This I believe, Sir.

Char. Why, Sir?

Doct. May I communicate a Secret of that nature?

Char. To any of the Cabalists, but none else.

Doct. Then know—last Night, my Daughter and my Niece were entertain’d by those illustrious Heroes.

Char. Who, Sir, the Emperor, and Prince his Cousin?

Doct. Most certain, Sir. But whether they appear’d in solid Bodies, or Fantomical, is yet a Question; for at my unlucky approach, they all transform’d themselves into a Piece of Hangings.

Char. ‘Tis frequent, Sir, their Shapes are numerous; and ‘tis also in their power to transform all they touch, by virtue of a certain Stone they call the Ebula.

Doct. That wondrous Ebula, which Gonzales had?

Char. The same, by virtue of which, all Weight was taken from him, and then with ease the lofty Traveller flew from Parnassus Hill, and from Hymethus Mount, and high Gerania, and Acrocorinthus, thence to Taygetus, so to Olympus Top, from whence he had but one step to the Moon. Dizzy he grants he was.

Doct. No wonder, Sir, Oh happy great Gonzales!

Char. Your Virtue, Sir, will render you as happy—but I must haste— this Night prepare your Daughter and your Niece, and let your House be dress’d, perfum’d, and clean.

Doct. It shall be all perform’d, Sir.

Char. Be modest, Sir, and humble in your Elevation; for nothing shews the Wit so poor, as Wonder, nor Birth so mean, as Pride.

Doct. I humbly thank your Admonition, Sir, and shall, in all I can, struggle with human Frailty.

[Brings Char. to the Door bare. Exeunt.

Enter Scaramouch, peeping at the other Door.

Scar. So, so, all things go gloriously forward, but my own Amour, and there is no convincing this obstinate Woman, that ‘twas that Rogue Harlequin in Disguise, claim’d me; so that I cannot so much as come to deliver the young Ladies their Letters from their Lovers. I must get in with this damn’d Mistress of mine, or all our Plot will be spoil’d for want of Intelligence. —Hum, the Devil does not use to fail me at a dead Lift. I must deliver these Letters, and I must have this Wench—though but to be reveng’d on her for abusing me—Let me see—she is resolv’d for the Apothecary or the Farmer. Well, say no more, honest Scaramouch; thou shalt find a Friend at need of me—and if I do not fit you with a Spouse, say that a Woman has out-witted me.


The End of the Second Act.


SCENE I. The Street, with the Town-Gate, where an Officer stands with a Staff like a London Constable.

    Enter Harlequin riding in a Calash, comes through the Gate
    towards the Stage, dress’d like a Gentleman sitting in it. The

    Officer lays hold of his Horse.

Off. Hold, hold, Sir, you I suppose know the Customs that are due to this City of Naples, from all Persons that pass the Gates in Coach, Chariot, Calash, or Siege Volant.

Har. I am not ignorant of the Custom, Sir, but what’s that to me.

Off. Not to you, Sir! why, what Privilege have you above the rest?

Har. Privilege, for what, Sir?

Off. Why, for passing, Sir, with any of the before-named Carriages.

Har. Art mad?—Dost not see I am a plain Baker, and this my Cart, that comes to carry Bread for the Vice-Roy’s, and the City’s Use?—ha.

Off. Are you mad, Sir, to think I cannot see a Gentleman Farmer and a Calash, from a Baker and a Cart.

Har. Drunk by this Day—and so early too? Oh, you’re a special Officer? unhand my Horse, Sirrah, or you shall pay for all the Damage you do me.

Off. Hey Day! here’s a fine Cheat upon the Vice-Roy: Sir, pay me, or I’ll seize your Horse. [Har. strikes him. They scuffle a little. —Nay, and you be so brisk, I’ll call the Clerk from his Office. [Calls.]—Mr. Clerk, Mr. Clerk.

[Goes to the Entrance to call the Clerk, the mean time Har. _whips a Frock over himself, and puts down the hind part of the Chariot, and then ‘tis a Cart.

Enter_ Clerk.

Cler. What’s the matter here?

Off. Here’s a Fellow, Sir, will persuade me, his Calash is a Cart, and refuses the Customs for passing the Gate.

Cler. A Calash—Where?—I see only a Carter and his Cart.

[The Officer looks on him.

Off. Ha, what a Devil, was I blind?

Har. Mr. Clerk, I am a Baker, that came with Bread to sell, and this Fellow here has stopt me this Hour, and made me lose the sale of my Ware; and being drunk, will out-face me I am a Farmer, and this Cart a Calash.

Cler. He’s in an Error, Friend, pass on.

Har. No, Sir, I’ll have satisfaction first, or the Vice-Roy shall know how he’s serv’d by drunken Officers, that are a Nuisance to a Civil Government.

Cler. What do you demand, Friend?

Har. Demand,—I demand a Crown, Sir.

Off. This is very hard—Mr. Clerk—If ever I saw in my Life, I thought I saw a Gentleman and a Calash.

Cler. Come, come, gratify him, and see better hereafter.

Off. Here, Sir,—if I must, I must. [Gives him a Crown.

Cler. Pass on, Friend. [Ex. Clerk.

    [Har. unseen, puts up the back of his Calash, and whips off
    his Frock, and goes to drive on. The
Officer looks on him,
    and stops him again

Off. Hum, I’ll swear it is a Calash—Mr. Clerk—Mr. Clerk, come back, come back. [Runs out to call him. He changes as before.

Enter Officer and Clerk.

—Come, Sir, let your own Eyes convince you, Sir.

Cler. Convince me, of what, you Sot?

Off. This is a Gentleman, and that a—ha— [Looks about on Har.

Cler. Stark drunk! Sirrah, if you trouble me at every Mistake of yours thus, you shall quit your Office.

Off. I beg your Pardon, Sir, I am a little in Drink I confess—a little blind and mad—Sir, —This must be the Devil, that’s certain.

[The Clerk goes out.

    [Har. puts up his Calash again, and pulls off his Frock
    and drives out

—Well, now to my thinking, ‘tis as plain a Calash again as ever I saw in my Life, and yet I’m satisfy’d ‘tis nothing but a Cart.


SCENE II. Changes to the Doctor’s House. The Hall.

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.


SCENE III. The Last. The Gallery richly adorn’d with Scenes and Lights.

    Enter Doctor, Elaria, Bellemante, and Mopsophil.
    Soft Musick is heard.

Bell. Ha—Heavens! what’s here? what Palace is this?—No part of our House, I’m sure.

Ela. ‘Tis rather the Apartment of some Monarch.

Doct. I’m all amazement too; but must not show my Ignorance. —Yes, Elaria, this is prepar’d to entertain two Princes.

Bell. Are you sure on’t, Sir? are we not, think you, in that World above, I often heard you speak of? in the Moon, Sir?

Doct. How shall I resolve her—For ought I know, we are. [Aside.

Ela. Sure, Sir, ‘tis some Inchantment.

Doct. Let not thy female Ignorance profane the highest Mysteries of natural Philosophy: To Fools it seems Inchantment—but I’ve a Sense can reach it—sit and expect the Event.—Hark, I am amaz’d, but must conceal my Wonder, that Joy of Fools—and appear wise in Gravity.

Bell. Whence comes this charming Sound, Sir?

Doct. From the Spheres—it is familiar to me.

[The Scene in the Front draws off, and shews the Hill of Parnassus; a noble large Walk of Trees leading to it, with eight or ten Negroes upon Pedestals, ranged on each side of the Walks. Next Keplair and Galileus _descend on each side, opposite to each other, in Chariots, with Perspectives in their Hands, as viewing the Machine of the Zodiack. Soft Musick plays still.

Doct. Methought I saw the Figure of two Men descend from yonder Cloud on yonder Hill.

Ela. I thought so too, but they are disappear’d, and the wing’d Chariot’s fled.

Enter Keplair and Galileus.

Bell. See, Sir, they approach.

[The Doctor rises and bows.

Kep. Most reverend Sir, we, from the upper World, thus low salute you—Keplair and Galileus we are call’d, sent as Interpreters to Great Iredonozor, the Emperor of the Moon, who is descending.

Doct. Most reverend Bards—profound Philosophers—thus low I bow to pay my humble Gratitude.

Kep. The Emperor, Sir, salutes you, and your fair Daughter.

Gal. And, Sir, the Prince of Thunderland salutes you, and your fair Neice.

Doct. Thus low I fall to thank their Royal Goodness.

[Kneels. They take him up.

Bell. Came you, most reverend Bards, from the Moon World?

Kep. Most lovely Maid, we did.

Doct. May I presume to ask the manner how?

Kep. By Cloud, Sir, through the Regions of the Air, down to the fam’d Parnassus; thence by Water, along the River Helicon, the rest by Post upon two wing’d Eagles.

Doct. Sir, are there store of our World inhabiting the Moon?

Kep. Oh, of all Nations, Sir, that lie beneath it in the Emperor’s Train! Sir, you will behold abundance; look up and see the Orbal World descending; observe the Zodiack, Sir, with her twelve Signs.

[Next the Zodiack descends, a Symphony playing all the while; when it is landed, it delivers the twelve Signs: Then the Song, the Persons of the Zodiack being the Singers. After which, the Negroes dance and mingle in the Chorus.

A Song for the Zodiack.

  Let murmuring Lovers no longer repine,
    But their Hearts and their Voices advance;
  Let the Nymphs and the Swains in the kind Chorus join,
    And the Satyrs and Fauns in a Dance.
  Let Nature put on her Beauty of May,
    And the Fields and the Meadows adorn;
  Let the Woods and the Mountains resound with the Joy,
    And the Echoes their Triumph return


        _For since Love wore his Darts,
          And Virgins grew Coy;
        Since these wounded Hearts,
          And those cou’d destroy,
  There ne’er was more Cause for your Triumphs and Joy.

  Hark, hark, the Musick of the Spheres,
    Some Wonder approaching declares;
  Such, such, as has not bless’d your Eyes and Ears
    This thousand, thousand, thousand Years.
  See, see what the Force of Love can make,
    Who rules in Heaven, in Earth and Sea;
  Behold how he commands the Zodiack,
    While the fixt Signs unhinging all obey.
  Not one of which, but represents
    The Attributes of Love,
  Who governs all the Elements
    In Harmony above_.


        _For since Love wore his Darts
          And Virgins grew coy;
        Since these wounded Hearts,
          And those cou’d destroy,
  There ne’er was more Cause for your Triumphs and Joy.

  The wanton Aries first descends,
    To show the Vigor and the Play,
  Beginning Love, beginning Love attends,
    When the young Passion is all-over Joy,
  He bleats his soft Pain to the fair curled Throng,
    And he leaps, and he bounds, and loves all the day long.
  At once Love’s Courage and his Slavery
    In_ Taurus is expressed,
  Though o’er the Plains the Conqueror be,
    The generous Beast
  Does to the Yoke submit his noble Breast;
Gemini smiling and twining of Arms,
    Shews Love’s soft Indearments and Charms;
Cancer’s slow Motion the degrees do express,
    Respectful Love arrives to Happiness
      Leo his strength and Majesty,
      Virgo her blushing Modesty,
Libra all his Equity.
      His Subtilty does
Scorpio show,
Sagittarius all his loose desire,
Capricorn his forward Humour know,
Aqua, Lovers Tears that raise his Fire,
Pisces, which intwin’d do move,
  Shew the soft Play, and wanton Arts of Love


        For since Love wore his Darts,
          And Virgins grew coy;
        Since these wounded Hearts,
          And those you’d destroy,
  There ne’er was more Cause for Triumphs and Joy

—See how she turns, and sends her Signs to Earth.—Behold the Ram, Aries—see Taurus next descends; then Gemini—see how the Boys embrace.—Next Cancer, then Leo, then the Virgin; next to her Libra—Scorpio, Sagittary, Capricorn, Aquarius, Pisces. This eight thousand Years no Emperor has descended, but Incognito; but when he does, to make his Journey more magnificent, the Zodiack, Sir, attends him.

Doct. ‘Tis all amazing, Sir.

Kep. Now, Sir, behold the Globick World descends two thousand Leagues below its wonted Station, to shew Obedience to its proper Monarch.

[After which, the Globe of the Moon appears, first like a new Moon, as it moves forward it increases till it comes to the Full. When it is descended, it opens and shews the Emperor and the Prince. They come forth with all their Train, the Flutes playing a Symphony before them, which prepares the Song. Which ended the Dancers mingle as before.


  All Joy to Mortals, Joy and Mirth,
IO’S sing;
  The Gods of Love descend to Earth,
    Their Darts have lost the Sting.
  The Youth shall now complain no more
Sylvia’s _needless Scorn,
  But she shall love, if he adore,
    And melt when he shall burn.

  The Nymph no longer shall be shy,
    But leave the jilting Road;
  And_ Daphne _now no more shall fly
    The wounded panting God;
  But all shall be serene and fair,
    No sad Complaints of Love
  Shall fill the gentle whispering Air,
    No echoing Sighs the Grove.

  Beneath the Shades young_ Strephon lies,
    Of all his Wish possess’d;
  Gazing on
Sylvia’s charming Eyes,
    Whose Soul is there confessed.
  All soft and sweet the Maid appears,
    With Looks that know no Art,
  And though she yields with trembling Fears,
    She yields with all her Heart

—See, Sir, the Cloud of Foreigners appears, French, English, Spaniards, Danes, Turks, Russians, Indians, and the nearer Climes of Christendom; and lastly, Sir, behold the mighty Emperor.—

[A Chariot appears, made like a Half Moon, in which is Cinthio for the Emperor, richly dressed, and Charmante for the Prince, rich, with a good many Heroes attending. Cinthio’s Train born by four Cupids. The Song continues while they descend and land. They address themselves to Elaria and Bellemante.—Doctor falls on his Face, the rest bow very low as they pass. They make signs to Keplair.

Kep. The Emperor wou’d have you rise, Sir, he will expect no Ceremony from the Father of his Mistress. [Takes him up.

Doct. I cannot, Sir, behold his Mightiness—the Splendor of his Majesty confounds me.

Kep. You must be moderate, Sir, it is expected.

[The two Lovers make all the Signs of Love in dumb show to the Ladies, while the soft Musick plays again from the end of the Song.

Doct. Shall I not have the Joy to hear their heavenly Voices, Sir?

Kep. They never speak to any Subject, Sir, when they appear in Royalty, but by Interpreters, and that by way of Stentraphon, in manner of the Delphick Oracles.

Doct. Any way, so I may hear the Sense of what they wou’d say.

Kep. No doubt you will—But see the Emperor commands by Signs his Foreigners to dance.

[Soft Musick changes.

[A very Antick Dance. The Dance ended, the Front Scene draws off, and shows a Temple, with an Altar, one speaking through a Stentraphon from behind it. Soft Musick plays the while.

Kep. Most Learned Sir, the Emperor now is going to declare himself, according to his Custom, to his Subjects. Listen.—

Sten. Most Reverend Sir, whose Virtue did incite us,
Whose Daughter’s Charms did more invite us;
We come to grace her with that Honour,
That never Mortal yet had done her;
Once only, Jove was known in Story,
To visit Semele in Glory.
But fatal ‘twas, he so enjoy’d her,
Her own ambitious Flame destroy’d her.
His Charms too fierce for Flesh and Blood,
She dy’d embracing of her God,
We gentler marks of Passion give,
The Maid we love, shall love and live;
Whom visibly we thus will grace,
Above the rest of human Race,
Say, is’t your Will that we shou’d wed her,
And nightly in Disguises bed her?

Doct. The Glory is too great for Mortal Wife.
                                 [Kneels with Transport.

Sten. What then remains, but that we consummate This happy Marriage in our splendid State?

Doct. Thus low I kneel, in thanks for this great Blessing.

[Cinthio takes Elaria by the Hand; Charmante, Bellemante; two of the Singers in white being Priests, they lead ‘em to the Altar, the whole Company dividing on either side. Where, while a Hymeneal Song is sung, the Priest joins their Hands: The Song ended, and they marry’d, they come forth; but before they come forward, two Chariots descend one on one side above, and the other on the other side; in which is Harlequin dress’d like a Mock Hero, with others; and Scaramouch in the other, dress’d so in Helmets.

Scar. Stay, mighty Emperor, and vouchsafe to be the Umpire of our Difference. [Cinthio signs to Keplair.

Kep. What are you?

Scar. Two neighbouring Princes to your vast Dominion.

Har. Knights of the Sun, our honourable Titles, And fight for that fair Mortal, Mopsophil.

Mop. Bless us!—my two precious Lovers, I’ll warrant; well, I had better take up with one of them, than lie alone to Night.

Scar. Long as two Rivals we have lov’d and hop’d,
Both equally endeavour’d, and both fail’d.
At last by joint Consent, we both agreed
To try our Titles by the Dint of Lance,
And chose your Mightiness for Arbitrator.

Kep. The Emperor gives Consent.

[They both all arm’d—with gilded Lances and Shields of Black, with golden Suns painted. The Musick plays a fighting Tune. They fight at Barriers, to the Tune.—Harlequin is often foil’d, but advances still; at last Scaramouch throws him, and is Conqueror; all give Judgment for him.

Kep. The Emperor pronounces you are Victor.— [To Scar.

Doct. Receive your Mistress, Sir, as the Reward of your undoubted Valour— [Presents Mopsophil.

Scar. Your humble Servant, Sir, and Scaramouch returns you humble Thanks. [Puts off his Helmet.

Doct. Ha,—Scaramouch!
     [Bawls out, and falls in a Chair. They all go to him.
My Heart misgives me—Oh, I am undone and cheated every way.
                                                 [Bawling out.

Kep. Be patient, Sir, and call up all your Virtue,
You’re only cur’d, Sir, of a Disease
That long has reign’d over your nobler Faculties.
Sir, I am your Physician, Friend and Counsellor;
It was not in the Power of Herbs or Minerals,
Of Reason, common Sense, and right Religion,
To draw you from an Error that unmann’d you.

Doct. I will be patient, Gentlemen, and hear you. —Are not you Ferdinand?

Kep. I am,—and these are Gentlemen of Quality, That long have lov’d your Daughter and your Niece; Don Cinthio this, and this is Don Charmante, The Vice-Roy’s Nephews both. Who found as Men—’twas impossible to enjoy ‘em, And therefore try’d this Stratagem.

Cin. Sir, I beseech you, mitigate your Grief, Although indeed we are but mortal Men, Yet we shall love you, serve you, and obey you.

Doct. Are not you then the Emperor of the Moon? And you the Prince of Thunderland?

Cin. There’s no such Person, Sir.
These Stories are the Fantoms of mad Brains,
To puzzle Fools withal—the Wise laugh at ‘em—
Come, Sir, you shall no longer be impos’d upon.

Doct. No Emperor of the Moon, and no Moon World!

Char. Ridiculous Inventions.
If we ‘ad not lov’d you you’ad been still impos’d on;
You had brought a Scandal on your learned Name,
And all succeeding Ages had despis’d it.

[Doct. leaps up.

Doct. Burn all my Books and let my study blaze, Burn all to Ashes, and be sure the Wind Scatter the vile contagious monstrous Lyes. —Most Noble Youths—you’ve honour’d me with your Alliance, and you, and all your Friends, Assistances in this glorious Miracle, I invite to Night to revel with me.—Come all and see my happy Recantation of all the Follies, Fables have inspir’d till now. Be pleasant to repeat your Story, to tell me by what kind degrees you cozen’d me. I see there’s nothing in Philosophy— [Gravely to himself. Of all that writ, he was the wisest Bard, who spoke this mighty Truth—

  “He that knew all that ever Learning writ,
  Knew only this—that he knew nothing yet.”



To be spoken by Mrs. Cooke.

With our old Plays, as with dull Wife it fares,
To whom you have been marry’d tedious Years.
You cry—She’s wondrous good, it is confessed, |
But still ‘tis
Chapon Boüillé _at the best; |
That constant Dish can never make a Feast: |
Yet the pall’d Pleasure you must still pursue,
You give so small Incouragement for new;
And who would drudge for such a wretched Age,
Who want the Bravery to support one Stage?
The wiser Wits have now new Measures set,
And taken up new Trades that they may hate.
No more your nice fantastick Pleasures serve,
Your Pimps you pay, but let your Poets starve,
They long in vain for better Usage hop’d,
Till quite undone and tir’d, they dropt and dropt;
Not one is left will write for thin third Day,
Like desperate Pickeroons, no Prize no Pay;
And when they have done their best, the Recompence
Is, Damn the Sot, his Play wants common Sense,
Ill-natured Wits, who can so ill requite
The drudging Slaves, who for your Pleasure write.

Look back on flourishing_ Rome, ye proud Ingrates,
And see how she her thriving Poets treats:
Wisely she priz’d ‘em at the noblest Rate, |
As necessary Ministers of State, |
And Contributions rais’d to make ‘em great. |
They from the publick Bank she did maintain,
And freed from want, they only writ for Fame;
And were as useful in a City held,
As formidable Armies in the Field.
They but a Conquest over Men pursued,
While these by gentle force the Soul subdu’d.
Rome in all her happiest Pomp cou’d show |
A greater
Caesar than we boast of now; |
Augustus _reigns, but Poets still are low. |

May Caesar live, and while his mighty Hand
Is scattering Plenty over all the Land;
With God-like Bounty recompensing all,
Some fruitful drops may on the Muses fall;
Since honest Pens do his just cause afford
Equal Advantage with the useful Sword_.



p. 390, l. 1 To The Lord Marquess. The dedication only occurs in 4tos 1687, 1688.

p. 391, l. 6 Billet Doux. 4tos read ‘Billet Deux’—The same form is found in the Prologue l. 8; but as no other instance of ‘Billet Deux’ occurs I have corrected what is doubtless a misprint.

p. 394, l. 28 Adznigs. 1724, ‘Adzigs’.

p. 395 Dramatis Personae. I have added ‘Page; Florinda, Cousin to Elaria and Bellemante.’

p. 398, l. 4 otherwise. 1724 ‘otherways’.

p. 399, l. 30 Rosycrusian. 4 to 1687 ‘Rosacrucian.’

p. 400, l. 16 Ma tres chère. 4 to 1687 ‘Matres chear.’ 4to 1688 ’.arrois charé.’

p,400, l. 27 tout autour. 4to 1687 ‘tout au toore.’ 4to 1688 ‘tout au tour.’

p.400, l. 30 sighing. 1724 misprints ‘fighting’.

p.400, l. 9 Cheveux blonds. 4tos ‘Chevave Blond’.

p. 403, l. 30 Sylphs. 4to 1687 ‘Silfs.’

p. 409, l. 13 Scene III. All the former editions have Scene II.

p. 412, l. 21 Enter Doctor. Both 4tos and 1724 omit to mark this entrance which I have supplied.

p.413, l. 18 Draws. 1724 omits.

p.417, l. 19 The End of the First Act. Only in 4tos 1687, 1688.

p. 417, l. 21 A Chamber. I have added the locale.

p. 418, l. 26 the Street. 1724 ‘a Street.’

p. 418, l. 27 a Flambeaux. This is the reading of both 4tos. 1724 ‘a Flambeau’. As Sir T. Herbert, Travels (1638), has a plural ‘Flambeauxes’ I have retained ‘Flambeaux’ as a singular here, though no other instance can be cited.

p. 420, l. 6 Scene III. I have numbered this scene.

p. 420, l. 9 Florinda. I have inserted this name here and as speech-prefix instead of ‘Lady’. It is supplied by Act ii, II, and again in this scene.

p. 422, l. 2 Harpsicals. 1724 ‘Harpsicords’.

p. 422, l. 15 Within. I have supplied this stage direction.

p. 424, l. 3 Doct. Hold up. 1724 improperly puts this speech after the stage direction.

p. 424, l. 8 Harlequin sits still. 4tos ‘He sits still.’

p. 426, ll. 7, 9 Mistriss. 1724 ‘Mrs.’

p. 426, l. 35 Aside, and Exit. ‘Aside’ only in 1724. I have supplied ’.nd exit.’

p. 427, l. 16 Scene IV. I have numbered this scene and supplied the locale ‘to Bellemante’s Chamber’.

p. 429, l. 6 Scene V. I have numbered this scene.

p. 436, l. 14 The End of the Second Act. Only in 4tos.

p. 438, l. 22 Scene II. I have numbered this scene.

p. 442, l. 5 prima. 4tos misprint ‘Fema’.

p. 453, l. 1 Scene III. The Last. I have numbered this scene. 1724 omits ‘The Last.’

p. 454, l. 3 the Emperor. 1724 omits ‘the’.

p. 456, l. 28 Sagittary. 1724 ‘Sagittar’.

p. 461, l. 32 Gravely to himself. Only in 4tos.

p. 462, l. 19 Pay. 1724 ‘Play.’

p. 462, l. 29 Bank. 1724 ‘Rank’.



p. 390 Lord Marquess of Worcester. Charles, Marquis of Worcester (1661-1698), father of Henry Somerset, second Duke of Beaufort, was the second son [Henry, his elder brother, died young] of Henry Somerset, first Duke of Beaufort (1629-1700), by Mary, eldest daughter of Arthur, first Lord Capel. The first Duke of Beaufort, the staunchest of Tories, was high in favour with Charles I, Charles II, and James II. Charles, the son and heir, was killed through an accident to his coach in Wales, July, 1698, and the shock is said to have hastened the old Duke’s end.

p. 391 acted in France eighty odd times. The original scenes were produced by the Italian comedians at the Hôtel de Bourgogne, 5 March, 1684. Their popularity did not wane for many a decade. In the fifth edition (1721) of Gherardi’s Théâtre Italien there are far fuller excerpts from the farce than in the first edition (1695).

p. 392 who now cannot supply one. The Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. If Mrs. Behn’s complaint about the public is true, James II was, none the less, himself a good friend to the stage, and many excellent plays were produced during his reign. There is, however, considerable evidence that at this period of strife—religious and political, rebellion and revolt —things theatrical were very badly affected, and the play-house poorly attended.

p. 393 No Woman without Vizard. cf. Cibber in his Apology (1740), ch. viii: ‘I remember the ladies were then observed to be decently afraid of venturing bare-faced to a new comedy, till they had been assured they might do it, without the risk of an insult to their modesty: or, if their curiosity were too strong for their patience, they took care, at least, to save appearances, and rarely came upon the first days of acting but in masks (then daily worn, and admitted in the pit, the side-boxes, and gallery) which custom, however, had so many ill consequences attending it, that it has been abolished these many years.’

p. 394 Sice. Six. The number six at dice.

p. 394 it sings Sawny. Saunie’s Neglect. This popular old Scotch song is to be found, with a tune, on p. 317, Vol. I, D’Urfey’s Wit and Mirth; or, Pills to Purge Melancholy (1719). It had previously been given in Wit and Drollery (1681). It commences thus:—

    Sawney was tall and of noble race
      And lov’d me better than any eane
    But now he ligs by another lass
      And Sawney will ne’er be my true love agen.

Ravenscroft, in The London Cuckolds (1682), Act iii, introduces a link-boy singing this verse as he passes down the street.

p. 394 There’s nothing lasting but the Puppets Show. About this time there was a famous Puppet Show in Salisbury Change which was so frequented that the actors were reduced to petition against it. cf. The Epilogue (spoken by Jevon) to Mountfort’s The Injured Lovers (1688), where the actor tells the audience they must be kind to the poet:—

    Else to stand by him, every man has swore.
    To Salisbury Court we’ll hurry you next week
    Where not for whores, but coaches you may seek;
    And more to plague you, there shall be no Play,
    But the Emperor of the Moon for every day.

Philander and Irene are the conventional names of lovers in the novels and puppet plays which were fashionable. It is interesting to note that less than a century after this prologue was first spoken, The Emperor of the Moon was itself being played at the puppet show in Exeter Change.

p. 395 Doctor Baliardo. The Doctor was one of the leading masks, stock characters, in Italian impromptu comedy. Doctor Graziano, or Baloardo Grazian, is a pedant, a philosopher, grammarian, rhetorician, astronomer, cabalist, a savant of the first water, boasting of his degree from Bologna, trailing the gown of that august university. Pompous in phrase and person, his speech is crammed with lawyer’s jargon and quibbles, with distorted Latin and ridiculous metaphors. He is dressed in black with bands and a huge shovel hat. He wears a black vizard with wine-stained cheeks. From 1653 until his death at an advanced age in 1694 the representative of Dr. Baloardo was Angelo Augustino Lolli. The Doctor’s speeches in Arlequin Empereur dans la Lune (1684), are a mixture of French and Italian.

p. 395 Scaramouch. In the original Arlequin Empereur dans la Lune Scaramouch is Pierrot. The make-up and costume of Pierrot (Pedrolino) circa 1673 is thus described: ‘La figure blanchie. Serre-tête blanc. Chapeau blanc. Veste et culotte de toile blanche. Bas blancs. Souliers blancs à rubans blancs.’ It will be seen that he differed little from his modern representative. Arlechino appeared in 1671 thus: ‘Veste et pantalon à fond jaune clair. Triangles d’.toffes rouges et vertes. Boutons de cuivre. Bas blancs, Souilers de peau blanche à rubans rouges. Ceinture de cuir jaune à boucle de cuivre. Masque noir. Serre-tête noir. Mentonnière noire. Chapeau gris à queue de lièvre. Batte. Collerette de mousseline.’

Colombine (Mopsophil) in 1683 wore a traditional costume: ‘Casaquin rouge bordé de noir. Jupe gris-perle. Souliers rouges bordés de noir. Manches et collerette de mousseline. Rayon de dentelle et touffe de rubans rose vif. Tablier blanc garni de dentelles.’

p. 397 your trusty Roger. cf. John Weever’s Ancient funerall monuments (folio, 1631): ‘The seruant obeyed and (like a good trusty Roger) performed his Master’s commandment.’ Roger stands as a generic name.

p. 399 Lucian’s Dialogue. The famous [Greek: Ikaromenippos hae hypernephelos]—’Icaromenippus; or, up in the Clouds.’ Mrs. Behn no doubt used the translation of Lucian by Ferrand Spence. 5 Vols. 1684-5. ’.caromenippus’ is given in Vol. III (1684).

p. 399 The Man in the Moon. The Man in the Moone, by Domingo Gonsales (i.e. Francis Godwin, Bishop of Llandaff, and later of Hereford), 8vo, 1638, and 12mo, 1657. This is a highly diverting work. The Second Edition (1657) has various cuts amongst which is a frontispiece, that occurs again at page 29 of the little volume, depicting Gonsales being drawn up to the lunar world in a machine, not unlike a primitive parachute, to which are harnessed his ‘gansas … 25 in number, a covey that carried him along lustily.’

p. 399 A Discourse of the World in the Moon. Cyrano de Bergerac’s [Greek Selaenarchia] or the Government of the World in the Moon: Done into English by Tho. St. Serf, Gent. (16mo, 1659), and another version, The Comical History of the States and Empires of the Worlds of the Moon and Sun, newly Englished by A. Lovell, A.M. (8vo, 1687).

p. 400 Plumeys. Gallants; beaus. So termed, of course, from their feathered hats. cf. Dryden’s An Evening’s Love (1668), Act i, I, where Jacinta, referring to the two gallants, says: ‘I guess ‘em to be Feathers of the English Ambassador’s train.’ cf. Pope’s Sir Plume in The Rape of the Lock. In one of the French scenes of La Precaution inutile, produced 5 March, 1692, by the Italian comedians, Gaufichon (Act i, I) cries to Leandre: ‘Je destine ma soeur a Monsieur le Docteur Balouard, et trente Plumets comme vous ne la détourneroient pas d’un aussi bon rencontre.’ The French word = a fop is, however, extremely rare. Plumet more often = un jeune militaire. cf. Panard (1694-1765); Oeuvres (1803), Tome III, p. 355:—

    Que les plumets seraient aimables
    Si leurs feux etaient plus constants!

p. 401 Cannons. Canons were the immense and exaggerated breeches, adorned with ribbons and richest lace, which were worn by the fops of the court of Louis XIV. There is more than one reference to them in Molière. Ozell, in his translation of Molière (1714), writes ‘cannions’. cf. School for Husbands, Vol. II, p. 32: ‘those great cannions wherein the legs look as tho’ they were in the stocks.’

    Ces grands cannons où, comme en des entraves,
    On met tous les matins ses deux jambes esclaves.
                                 —Ecole des Maris, i, I.

cf. Pepys, 24 May, 1660: ‘Up, and made myself as fine as I could, with the linen stockings on and wide canons that I bought the other day at Hague.’

p. 403 The Count of Gabalis. The Abbé Montfaucon de Villars (1635-73) had wittily satirized the philosophy of Paracelsus and the Rosicrucians and their belief in sylphs and elemental spirits in his Le Comte de Gabalis ou Entretiens sur les sciences secrètes (Paris, 1670), which was ‘done into English by P.A. Gent.’ (P. Ayres), as Count Gabalis, or the Extravagant Mysteries of the Cabalists, exposed in five pleasant discourses (1680), and thus included in Vol. II of Bentley and Magnes, Modern Novels (1681-93), twelve volumes. It will be remembered that Pope was indebted to a hint from Gabalis for his aerial machinery in The Rape of the Lock.

p. 406 Iredonozar. This name is from Gonsales’ (Bishop Godwin) The Man in the Moone: ‘The first ancestor of this great monarch [the Emperor of the Moon] came out of the earth … and his name being Irdonozur, his heirs, unto this day, do all assume unto themselves that name.’

p. 407 Harlequin comes out on the Stage. This comic scene, Du Desespoir, which affords such opportunity for the mime, although not given in the first edition of Le Théâtre Italien, finds a place in the best edition (1721). The editor has appended the following note: ‘Ceux qui ont vù cette Scène, conviendront que c’est une des plus plaisantes qu’on ait jamais jouée sur le Théâtre Italien.’

p. 408 a Man that laugh’d to death. This is the traditional end of l’unico Aretino. On hearing some ribald jest he is said to have flung himself back in a chair and expired of sheer merriment. Later days elucidate his fate by declaring that overbalancing himself he broke his neck on the marble pavement. Sir Thomas Urquhart, the glorious translator of Rabelais, is reported to have died of laughter on hearing of the Restoration of Charles II.

p. 410 Boremes. A corrupt form (perhaps only in these passages) of bouts-rimés. ‘They were a List of Words that rhyme to one another drawn up by another Hand and given to a Poet, who was to make a Poem to the Rhymes in the same Order that they were placed on the List.’ —Addison, Spectator, No. 60 (1711).

p. 413 Flute Doux. Should be flute-douce. ‘The highest pitched variety of the old flute with a mouthpiece.’—Murray, N.E.D. cf. Etheredge, The Man of Mode (1676), ii, II: ‘Nothing but flute doux and French hoyboys.’

p. 420 a Curtain or Hangings. When several scenes had to be set one behind another the device of using a curtain or tapestries was common. cf. Dryden and Lee’s The Duke of Guise (1682), Act v, where after four or five sets ‘the scene draws, behind it a traverse’. We then have the Duke’s assassination—he shrieks out some four lines and dies, whereon ’.he traverse is drawn’. The traverse was merely a pair of curtains on a rod. All the grooves were in use for the scenes already set.

p. 422 Harpsicals. A common corruption of harpsicords on the analogy of virginals. The two 4tos, 1687 and 1688, and the 1711 edition all read ’.arpsicals’. 1724 gives ‘Harpsicords’.

p. 435 Ebula. The Ebelus was a jewel of great price bestowed upon Gonzales by Irdonozur. He tells us that: ‘to say nothing of the colour (the Lunar whereof I made mention before, which notwithstanding is so incredibly beautiful, as a man should travel 1000 Leagues to behold it), the shape is somewhat flat of the breadth of a Pistolett, and twice the thickness. The one side of this, which is somewhat more Orient of Colour than the other, being clapt to the bare skin of a man, in any part of his body, it taketh away from it all weight or ponderousness; whereas turning the other side it addeth force unto the attractive beams of the Earth, either in this world or that, and maketh the body to weigh half so much again as it did before.’

p. 446 Guzman of Salamanca. A Guzman was a common term of abuse. The first English translation (by James Mabbe) of Aleman’s famous romance is, indeed, entitled The Rogue, and it had as running title The Spanish Rogue. There is a novel by George Fidge entitled The English Gusman; or, The History of that Unparalleled Thief James Hind (1652, 4to). Salamanca had an unsavoury reputation owing to the fictions of Titus Gates. cf. The Rover (II), Act v: ‘Guzman Medicines.’

p. 446 Signum Mallis. This curious phrase, which is both distorted cant and canine, would appear to mean ‘your rogue’s phiz’.

p. 446 Friskin. ‘A gay lively person.’—Halliwell.

p. 446 Jack of Lent. A puppet set up to be thrown at; in modern parlance, ‘Aunt Sally’. Hence a butt for all.

p. 451 Spitchcock’d. To spitchcock is to split lengthwise, as an eel, and then broil.

p. 458 Stentraphon. A megaphone.

p. 460 They fight at Barriers. A comic combat between Harlequin and Scaramouch forms one of the traditional incidents (Lazzi), which occur repeatedly in the Italian and Franco-Italian farces. cf. Dryden’s Epilogue spoken by Hart when The Silent Woman was played before the University of Oxford in 1673:—

    Th’ Italian Merry-Andrews took their place,
    And quite debauch’d the Stage with lewd Grimace:
    Instead of Wit and Humours, your Delight
    Was there to see two Hobby-horses fight,
    Stout Scaramoucha with Rush Lance rode in,
    And ran a Tilt at Centaure Arlequin.