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.
_Oh!--Oh!--Oh_!
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_.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MEN.
_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_.
WOMEN.
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_.
The SCENE, _NAPLES_.
ACT I.
SCENE I. _A Chamber_.
_Enter_ Elaria _and_ Mopsophil.
I.
_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_.
II.
_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_.
III.
_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?