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.