_Bell_. Here, take my Prayer-Book, _Oh Ma tres chere_. [_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!
SINGS.
_Chevalier a 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.
[_Exeunt_.
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.