_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.