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Emperor of the Moon

<h2 id="id05599" style="margin-top: 4em">ACT III.</h2> <h5 id="id05600">SCENE I. The Street, with the Town-Gate, where an Officer stands with a Staff like a London Constable.</h5> 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. [Ex. <h3 id="id05639" style="margin-top: 3em">SCENE II. Changes to the Doctor’s House. The Hall.</h3> Enter Scaramouch in a Chair, which is set down and open’d on all sides, and on the top represents an Apothecary’s Shop, the Inside being painted with Shelves, and rows of Pots and Bottles; Scaramouch sitting in it dress’d in Black, with a short black Cloke, a Ruff, and little Hat. Scar. The Devil’s in’t, if either the Doctor, my Master, or Mopsophil, know me in this Disguise—And thus I may not only gain my Mistress, and out-wit Harlequin, but deliver the Ladies those Letters from their Lovers, which I took out of his Pocket this Morning; and who wou’d suspect an Apothecary for a Pimp?—Nor can the Jade Mopsophil, in Honour, refuse a Person of my Gravity, and so well set up.— [Pointing to his Shop. —Hum, the Doctor here first, this is not so well, but I’m prepar’d with Impudence for all Encounters. Enter the Doctor. Scaramouch salutes him gravely. —Most Reverend Doctor Baliardo. [Bows. Doct. Seignior— [Bows. Scar. I might through great Pusillanimity, blush to give you this Anxiety, did not I opine you were as gracious as communicative and eminent; and though you have no Cognisance of me, your humble Servant,—yet I have of you,—you being so gravely fam’d for your admirable Skill both in Galenical and Paracelsian Phaenomena’s, and other approv’d Felicities in Vulnerary Emeticks, and purgative Experiences. Doct. Seignior,—your Opinion honours me—rare Man this. Scar. And though I am at present busied in writing—those few Observations I have accumulated in my Peregrinations, Sir; yet the Ambition I aspir’d to, of being an ocular and aurial Witness of your Singularity, made me trespass on your sublimer Affairs. Doct. Seignior— Scar.—Besides a violent Inclination, Sir, of being initiated into the Denomination of your learned Family, by the Conjugal Circumference of a Matrimonial Tye, with that singularly accomplish’d Person—Madam, the Governante of your Hostel— Doct. Hum—A Sweet-heart for Mopsophil! [Aside. Scar. And if I may obtain your Condescension to my Hymenaeal Propositions, I doubt not my Operation with the Fair One. Doct. Seignior, she’s much honour’d in the Overture, and my Abilities shall not be wanting to fix the Concord.—But have you been a Traveller, Sir? Scar. Without Circumlocutions, Sir, I have seen all the Regions beneath the Sun and Moon. Doct. Moon, Sir! You never travell’d thither, Sir? Scar. Not in Propria Persona, Seignior, but by Speculation, I have, and made most considerable Remarks on that incomparable Terra Firma, of which I have the compleatest Map in Christendom—and which Gonzales himself omitted in his Cosmographia of the Lunar Mundus. Doct. A Map of the Lunar Mundus, Sir! may I crave the Honour of seeing it? Scar. You shall, Sir, together with a Map of Terra Incognita; a great Rarity, indeed, Sir. Enter Bellemante. Doct. Jewels, Sir, worth a King’s Ransom! Bell. Ha,—What Figure of a Thing have we here, bantering my credulous Uncle?—This must be some Scout sent from our Forlorn Hope, to discover the Enemy, and bring in fresh Intelligence.—Hum, that Wink tipt me some Tidings, and she deserves not a good Look, who understands not the Language of the Eyes.—Sir, Dinner’s on the Table. Doct. Let it wait, I am employ’d— [She creeps to the other side of Scaramouch, who makes Signs with his Hand to her. Bell. Ha, ‘tis so:—This Fellow has some Novel for us, some Letter or Instructions, but how to get it— [As Scar. talks to the Doctor, he takes the Letters by degrees out of his Pocket, and unseen, given ‘em Bellemante behind him. Doct. But this Map, Seignior; I protest you have fill’d me with Curiosity. Has it signify’d all things so exactly, say you? Scar. Omitted nothing, Seignior, no City, Town, Village, or Villa; no Castle, River, Bridge, Lake, Spring, or Mineral. Doct. Are any, Sir, of those admirable Mineral Waters there, so frequent in our World? Scar. In abundance, Sir: the Famous Garamanteen, a young Italian, Sir, lately come from thence, gives an account of an excellent Scaturigo, that has lately made an Ebulation there, in great Reputation with the Lunary Ladies. Doct. Indeed, Sir! be pleas’d, Seignior, to ‘solve me some Queries that may enode some appearances of the Virtue of the Water you speak of. Scar. Pox upon him, what Questions he asks—but I must on. [Aside.] Why, Sir, you must know,—the Tincture of this Water upon Stagnation ceruleates, and the Crocus upon the Stones flaveces; this he observes —to be, Sir, the Indication of a generous Water. Doct. Hum— [Gravely nodding. Scar. Now, Sir, be pleas’d to observe the three Regions: if they be bright, without doubt Mars is powerful; if the middle Region or Camera be palled, Filia Solis is breeding. Doct. Hum. Scar. And then the third Region, if the Faeces be volatile, the Birth will soon come in Balneo. This I observed also in the Laboratory of that ingenious Chymist Lysidono, and with much Pleasure animadverted that Mineral of the same Zenith and Nadir, of that now so famous Water in England, near that famous Metropolis, call’d Islington. Doct. Seignior— Scar. For, Sir, upon the Infusion, the Crows Head immediately procures the Seal of Hermes; and had not Lac Virginis been too soon suck’d up, I believe we might have seen the Consummation of Amalgama. [Bellemante having got her Letters, goes off. She makes Signs to him to stay a little. He nods. Doct. Most likely, Sir. Scar. But, Sir, this Garamanteen relates the strangest Operation of a Mineral in the Lunar World, that ever I heard of. Doct. As how, I pray, Sir? Scar. Why, Sir, a Water impregnated to a Circulation with prima Materia; upon my Honour, Sir, the strongest I ever drank of. Doct. How, Sir! did you drink of it? Scar. I only speak the words of Garamanteen, Sir. —Pox on him, I shall be trapt. [Aside. Doct. Cry Mercy, Sir.— [Bows. Scar. The Lunary Physicians, Sir, call it Urinam Vulcani, it calybeates every ones Excrements more or less according to the Gradus of the natural Calor.—To my Knowledge, Sir, a Smith of a very fiery Constitution is grown very opulent by drinking these Waters. Doct. How, Sir, grown rich by drinking the Waters, and to your Knowledge? Scar. The Devil’s in my Tongue. To my Knowledge, Sir; for what a Man of Honour relates, I may safely affirm. Doct. Excuse me, Seignior— [Puts off his Hat again gravely. Scar. For, Sir, conceive me how he grew rich! since he drank those Waters he never buys any Iron, but hammers it out of Stercus Proprius. Enter Bellemante with a Billet. Bell. Sir, ‘tis three a Clock, and Dinner will be cold. [Goes behind Scaramouch, and gives him the Note and goes out. Doct. I come, Sweet-heart; but this is wonderful. Scar. Ay, Sir, and if at any time Nature be too infirm, and he prove Costive, he has no more to do, but apply a Load-stone ad Anum. Doct. Is’t possible? Scar. Most true, Sir, and that facilitates the Journey per Viscera. —But I detain you, Sir;—another time, Sir,—I will now only beg the Honour of a Word or two with the Governante, before I go. Doct. Sir, she shall wait on you, and I shall be proud of the Honour of your Conversation. [Ex. Doctor. Enter to him Harlequin, dress’d like a Farmer, as before. Har. Hum—What have we here, a Taylor or a Tumbler? Scar. Ha—Who’s this?—Hum—What if it shou’d be the Farmer that the Doctor has promis’d Mopsophil to? My Heart misgives me. [They look at each other a while. Who wou’d you speak with, Friend? Har. This is, perhaps, my Rival the Apothecary.—Speak with, Sir! why, what’s that to you? Scar. Have you Affairs with Seignor Doctor, Sir? Har. It may be I have, it may be I have not. What then, Sir? While they seem in angry Dispute, enter Mopsophil. Mop. Seignior Doctor tells me I have a Lover waits me, sure it must be the Farmer or the Apothecary. No matter which, so a Lover that welcomest Man alive. I am resolv’d to take the first good Offer, though but in revenge of Harlequin and Scaramouch, for putting Tricks upon me. —Ha,—Two of ‘em! Scar. My Mistress here! [They both bow, and advance, putting each other by. Mop. Hold, Gentlemen,—do not worry me. Which of you wou’d speak with me? Both. I, I, I, Madam— Mop. Both of you? Both. No, Madam, I, I. Mop. If both Lovers, you are both welcome; but let’s have fair Play, and take your turns to speak. Har. Ay, Seignior, ‘tis most uncivil to interrupt me. Scar. And disingenuous, Sir, to intrude on me. [Putting one another by. Mop. Let me then speak first. Har. I’m dumb. Scar. I acquiesce. Mop. I was inform’d there was a Person here had Propositions of Marriage to make me. Har. That’s I, that’s I— [Shoves Scar. away. Scar. And I attend to that consequential Finis. [Shoves Har. away. Har. I know not what you mean by your Finis, Seignior; but I am come to offer my self this Gentlewoman’s Servant, her Lover, her Husband, her Dog in a Halter, or any thing. Scar. Him I pronounce a Paltroon, and an ignominious Utensil, that dare lay claim to the renowned Lady of my Primum Mobile; that is, my best Affections. [In Rage. Har. I fear not your hard Words, Sir, but dare aloud pronounce, if Donna Mopsophil like me, the Farmer, as well as I like her, ‘tis a Match, and my Chariot’s ready at the Gate to bear her off, d’ye see. Mop. Ah, how that Chariot pleads. [Aside. Scar. And I pronounce, that being intoxicated with the sweet Eyes of this refulgent Lady, I come to tender her my noblest Particulars, being already most advantageously set up with the circumstantial Implements of my Occupation. [Points to the Shop. Mop. A City Apothecary, a most genteel Calling—Which shall I chuse? —Seignior Apothecary, I’ll not expostulate the circumstantial Reasons that have occasion’d me this Honour. Scar. Incomparable Lady, the Elegancy of your Repartees most excellently denotes the Profundity of your Capacity. Har. What the Devil’s all this? Good Mr. Conjurer, stand by—and don’t fright the Gentlewoman with your elegant Profundities. [Puts him by. Scar. How, a Conjurer! I will chastise thy vulgar Ignorance, that yclepes a Philosopher a Conjurer. [In Rage. Har. Losaphers!—Prithee, if thou be’st a Man, speak like a Man—then. Scar. Why, what do I speak like? what do I speak like? Har. What do you speak like!—why you speak like a Wheel-Barrow. Scar. How! Har. And how. [They come up close together at half Sword Parry; stare on each other for a while, then put up and bow to each other civilly. Mop. That’s well, Gentlemen, let’s have all Peace, while I survey you both, and see which likes me best. [She goes between ‘em, and surveys ‘em both, they making ridiculous bows on both sides, and Grimaces the while. —Ha, now on my Conscience, my two foolish Lovers, Harlequin and Scaramouch; how are my Hopes defeated?—but, faith, I’ll fit you both. [She views ‘em both. Scar. So she’s considering still, I shall be the happy Dog. [Aside. Har. She’s taking aim, she cannot chuse but like me best. [Aside. Scar. Well, Madam, how does my Person propagate? [Bowing and smiling. Mop. Faith, Seignior, now I look better on you, I do not like your Phisnomy so well as your Intellects; you discovering some circumstantial Symptoms that ever denote a villanous Inconstancy. Scar. Ah, are you pleas’d, Madam. Mop. You are mistaken, Seignior. I am displeas’d at your Grey-Eyes, and black Eye-brows, and Beard; I never knew a Man with those Signs, true to his Mistress or his Friend. And I wou’d sooner wed that Scoundrel Scaramouch, that very civil Pimp, that mere pair of chymical Bellows that blow the Doctor’s projecting Fires, that Deputy-urinal Shaker, that very Guzman of Salamanca. than a Fellow of your infallible Signum Mallis. Har. Ha, ha, ha, you have your Answer, Seignior Friskin—and may shut up your Shop and be gone.—Ha, ha, ha. Scar. Hum, sure the Jade knows me. [Aside. Mop. And as for you, Seignior— Har. Ha, Madam. [Bowing and smiling. Mop. Those Lanthorn Jaws of yours, with that most villanous Sneer and Grin, and a certain fierce Air of your Eyes, looks altogether most fanatically—which with your notorious Whey Beard, are certain Signs of Knavery and Cowardice; therefore I’ad rather wed that Spider Harlequin, that Sceleton Buffoon, that Ape of Man, that Jack of Lent, that very Top, that’s of no use, but when ‘tis whip’d and lash’d, that piteous Property I’ad rather wed than thee. Har. A very fair Declaration. Mop. You understand me—and so adieu, sweet Glisterpipe, and Seignior Dirty-Boots, Ha, ha, ha. [Runs out. [They stand looking simply on each other, without speaking a while. Scar. That I shou’d not know that Rogue Harlequin. [Aside. Har. That I shou’d take this Fool for a Physician. [Aside. —How long have you commenc’d Apothecary, Seignior? Scar. Ever since you turn’d Farmer.—Are not you a damn’d Rogue to put these Tricks upon me, and most dishonourably break all Articles between us? Har. And are not you a dam’d Son of a—something—to break Articles with me? Scar. No more Words, Sir, no more Words, I find it must come to Actions, draw. [Draws. Har. Draw!—so I can draw, Sir. [Draws. [They make a ridiculous cowardly Fight. Enter the Doctor, which they seeing, come on with more Courage. He runs between, and with his Cane beats the Swords down. Doct. Hold, hold, what mean you, Gentlemen? Scar. Let me go, Sir, I am provok’d beyond measure, Sir. Doct. You must excuse me, Seignior. [Parlies with Harlequin. Scar. I dare not discover the Fool for his Master’s sake, and it may spoil our Intrigue anon; besides, he’ll then discover me, and I shall be discarded for bantering the Doctor. [Aside. —Man of Honour to be so basely affronted here. [The Doctor comes to appease Scaramouch. Har. Shou’d I discover this Rascal, he wou’d tell the old Gentleman I was the same that attempted his House to day in Woman’s Clothes, and I should be kick’d and beaten most insatiably. Scar. What, Seignior, for a Man of Parts to be impos’d upon, and whip’d through the Lungs here—like a Mountebank’s Zany for sham Cures —Mr. Doctor, I must tell you ‘tis not civil. Doct. I am extremely sorry for it, Sir,—and you shall see how I will have this fellow handled for the Affront to a Person of your Gravity, and in my House.—Here, Pedro. Enter Pedro. —Take this Intruder, or bring some of your Fellows hither, and toss him in a Blanket. [Exit Pedro. [Har. going to creep away, Scar, holds him. Har. Hark ye, bring me off, or I’ll discover all your Intrigue. [Aside to him. Scar. Let me alone. Doct. I’ll warrant you some Rogue that has some Plot on my Niece and Daughter. Scar. No, no, Sir, he comes to impose the grossest Lye upon you, that ever was heard of. Enter Pedro with others, with a Blanket. They put Harlequin into it, and toss him. Har. Hold, hold, I’ll confess all, rather than indure it. Doct. Hold, what will you confess, Sir. [He comes out, makes sick Faces. Scar.—That he’s the greatest Impostor in Nature. Wou’d you think it, Sir? he pretends to be no less than an Ambassador from the Emperor of the Moon, Sir. Doct. Ha, Ambassador from the Emperor of the Moon! [Pulls off his Hat. Scar. Ay, Sir, thereupon I laugh’d, thereupon he grew angry—I laugh’d at his Resentment, and thereupon we drew, and this was the high Quarrel, Sir. Doct. Hum—Ambassador from the Moon. [Pauses. Scar. I have brought you off, manage him as well as you can. Har. Brought me off, yes, out of the Frying-pan into the Fire. Why, how the Devil shall I act an Ambassador? [Aside. Doct. It must be so, for how shou’d either of these know I expected that Honour? [He addresses him with profound Civility to Har. Sir, if the Figure you make, approaching so near ours of this World, have made us commit any undecent Indignity to your high Character, you ought to pardon the Frailty of our mortal Education and Ignorance, having never before been bless’d with the Descension of any from your World. Har. What the Devil shall I say now? [Aside. —I confess I am, as you may see by my Garb, Sir, a little Incognito, because the publick Message I bring is very private—which is, that the mighty Iredonozor, Emperor of the Moon, with his most worthy Brother, the Prince of Thunderland, intend to sup with you to Night.—Therefore be sure you get good Wine.—Though by the way let me tell you, ‘tis for the sake of your fair Daughter. Scar. I’ll leave the Rogue to his own Management. I presume, by your whispering, Sir, you wou’d be private, and humbly begging pardon, take my leave. [Exit. Har. You have it, Friend. Does your Niece and Daughter drink, Sir? Doct. Drink, Sir? Har. Ay, Sir, drink hard? Doct. Do the Women of your World drink hard, Sir? Har. According to their Quality, Sir, more or less; the greater the Quality, the more profuse the Quantity. Doct. Why, that’s just as ‘tis here; but your Men of Quality, your Statesmen, Sir, I presume they are sober, learned, and wise. Har. Faith, no, Sir; but they are, for the most part, what’s as good, very proud and promising, Sir, most liberal of their Word to every fauning Suiter, to purchase the state of long Attendance, and cringing as they pass; but the Devil of a Performance, without you get the Knack of bribing in the right Place and Time; but yet they all defy it, Sir. Doct. Just, just, as ‘tis here.—But pray, Sir, how do these Great men live with their Wives? Har. Most nobly, Sir, my Lord keeps his Coach, my Lady hers; my Lord his Bed, my Lady hers; and very rarely see one another, unless they chance to meet in a Visit, in the Park, the Mall, the Tour, or at the Basset-Table, where they civilly salute and part, he to his Mistress, she to play. Doct. Good lack! just as ‘tis here. Har.—Where, if she chance to lose her Money, rather than give out, she borrows of the next amorous Coxcomb, who, from that Minute, hopes, and is sure to be paid again one way or other, the next kind Opportunity. Doct.—Just as ‘tis here. Har. As for the young Fellows that have Money, they have no Mercy upon their own Persons, but wearing Nature off as fast as they can, Swear, and Whore and Drink, and borrow as long as any Rooking Citizen will lend till, having dearly purchased the heroick Title of a Bully or a Sharper, they live pity’d of their Friends, and despis’d by their Whores, and depart this Transitory World, diverse and sundry ways. Doct. Just, just as ‘tis here! Har. As for the Citizen, Sir, the Courtier lies with his Wife; he in revenge, cheats him of his Estate, till rich enough to marry his Daughter to a Courtier, again gives him all—unless his Wife’s over-gallantry breaks him; and thus the World runs round. Doct. The very same ‘tis here—Is there no preferment, Sir, for Men of Parts and Merit? Har. Parts and Merit! what’s that? a Livery, or the handsome tying a Cravat; for the great Men prefer none but their Foot-men and Valets. Doct. By my Troth, just as ‘tis here.—Sir, I find you are a Person of most profound Intelligence—under Favour, Sir, are you a Native of the Moon, or this World? Har. The Devil’s in him for hard Questions. —I am a Neapolitan, Sir? Doct. Sir, I Honour you; good luck, my Countryman! How got you to the Region of the Moon, Sir? Har. A plaguy inquisitive old Fool! —Why, Sir, —Pox on’t, what shall I say? —I being—one day in a musing Melancholy, walking by the Sea-side— there arose, Sir, a great Mist, by the Sun’s exhaling of the Vapours of the Earth, Sir. Doct. Right, Sir. Har. In this Fog, or Mist, Sir, I was exhal’d. Doct. The Exhalations of the Sun draw you to the Moon, Sir? Har. I am condemn’d to the Blanket again. —I say, Sir, I was exhal’d up, but in my way—being too heavy, was drop’d into the Sea. Doct. How, Sir, into the Sea? Har. The Sea, Sir, where the Emperor’s Fisherman casting his Nets, drew me up, and took me for a strange and monstrous Fish, Sir,—and as such, presented me to his Mightiness,—who going to have me Spitchcock’d for his own eating— Doct. How, Sir, eating? Har. What did me I, Sir (Life being sweet) but fall on my Knees, and besought his Gloriousness not to eat me, for I was no Fish, but a Man; he ask’d me of what Country, I told him of Naples; whereupon the Emperor overjoy’d ask’d me if I knew that most reverend and learned Doctor Baliardo, and his fair Daughter. I told him I did: whereupon he made me his Bed-fellow, and the Confident to his Amour to Seigniora Elaria. Doct. Bless me, Sir! how came the Emperor to know my Daughter? Har. There he is again with his damn’d hard Questions. —Know her, Sir,—Why—you were walking abroad one day. Doct. My Daughter never goes abroad, Sir, farther than our Garden. Har. Ay, there it was indeed, Sir,—and as his Highness was taking a Survey of this lower World—through a long Perspective, Sir,—he saw you and your Daughter and Neice, and from that very moment fell most desperately in love.—But hark, the sound of Timbrels, Kettle-Drums and Trumpets.—The Emperor, Sir, is on his way, prepare for his Reception. [A strange Noise is heard of Brass Kettles, and Pans, and Bells, and many tinkling things. Doct. I’m in a Rapture—How shall I pay my Gratitude for this great Negotiation?—but as I may, I humbly offer, Sir. [Presents him with a rich Ring and a Purse of Gold. Har. Sir, as an Honour done the Emperor, I take your Ring and Gold. I must go meet his Highness. [Takes leave. Enter to him Scaramouch, as himself. Scar. Oh, Sir! we are astonish’d with the dreadful sound of the sweetest Musick that ever Mortal heard, but know not whence it comes. Have you not heard it, Sir? Doct. Heard it, yes, Fool,—’tis the Musick of the Spheres, the Emperor of the Moon World is descending. Scar. How, Sir, no marvel then, that looking towards the South, I saw such splendid Glories in the Air. Doct. Ha, saw’st thou ought descending in the Air? Scar. Oh, yes, Sir, Wonders! haste to the old Gallery, whence, with the help of your Telescope, you may discover all. Doct. I would not lose a moment for the lower Universe. Enter Elaria, Bellemante, Mopsophil, dressed in rich Antick Habits. Ela. Sir, we are dress’d as you commanded us, what is your farther Pleasure? Doct. It well becomes the Honour you’re design’d for, this Night to wed two Princes—come with me and know your happy Fate. [Ex. Doctor and Scar. Ela. Bless me! My Father, in all the rest of his Discourse shows so much Sense and Reason, I cannot think him mad, but feigns all this to try us. Bell. Not mad! Marry, Heavens forbid, thou art always creating Fears to startle one; why, if he be not mad, his want of Sleep this eight and forty hours, the Noise of strange unheard of Instruments, with the fantastick Splendour of the unusual Sight, will so turn his Brain and dazzle him, that in Grace and Goodness, he may be mad, if he be not;— come, let’s after him to the Gallery, for I long to see in what showing Equipage our princely Lovers will address to us. [Exeunt. <h3 id="id05840" style="margin-top: 3em">SCENE III. The Last. The Gallery richly adorn’d with Scenes and Lights.</h3> 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. Chorus. _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_. Chorus. _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; While Gemini smiling and twining of Arms, Shews Love’s soft Indearments and Charms; And Cancer’s slow Motion the degrees do express, Respectful Love arrives to Happiness. Leo his strength and Majesty, Virgo her blushing Modesty, And Libra all his Equity. His Subtilty does Scorpio show, And Sagittarius all his loose desire, By Capricorn his forward Humour know, And Aqua, Lovers Tears that raise his Fire, While Pisces, which intwin’d do move, Shew the soft Play, and wanton Arts of Love. Chorus. 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. <h5 id="id05884"> A SONG.</h5> All Joy to Mortals, Joy and Mirth, Eternal IO’S sing; The Gods of Love descend to Earth, Their Darts have lost the Sting. The Youth shall now complain no more Of 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.” [Exeunt. <h3 id="id05930" style="margin-top: 3em">EPILOGUE,</h3> 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. Not 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_. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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