Har.  Prayers!  I never heard of a dying Hero that ever pray’d.

Scar.  Well, I’ll not stand with you for a Trifle—­Being come up, I’ll open the Casement, take you by the Heels, and sling you out into the Street; after which, you have no more to do, but to come up and throw me down in my turn.

Har.  The Atchievement’s great and new; but now I think on’t, I’m resolv’d to hear my Sentence from the Mouth of the perfidious Trollop, for yet I cannot credit it.

  I’ll to the Gipsy, though I venture banging,
  To be undeceiv’d, ’tis hardly worth the hanging.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The Chamber of Bellemante.

Enter Scaramouch groping.

Scar.  So, I have got rid of my Rival, and shall here get an Opportunity to speak with Mopsophil; for hither she must come anon, to lay the young Lady’s Night-things in order; I’ll hide my self in some Corner till she come.
                       [Goes on to the further side of the Stage.

Enter Harlequin groping.

Har.  So, I made my Rival believe I was gone, and hid my self till I got this Opportunity to steal to Mopsophil’s Apartment, which must be hereabouts; for from these Windows she us’d to entertain my Love.
          
                                                  [Advances.

Scar.  Ha, I hear a soft Tread,—­if it were Mopsophil’s, she wou’d not come by dark.

[Harlequin advancing runs against a Table, and almost
strikes himself backwards.

Har.  What was that?—­a Table, there I may obscure my self.
                                               [Groping for the Table. 
What a Devil, is it vanish’d?

Scar.  Devil,—­vanish’d!  What can this mean?  ’Tis a Man’s Voice.—­If it should be my Master the Doctor now, I were a dead Man;—­he can’t see me; and I’ll put my self into such a Posture, that if he feel me, he shall as soon take me for a Church Spout as a Man.

[He puts himself into a Posture ridiculous, his Arms a-kimbo, his Knees wide open, his Backside almost touching the Ground, his Mouth stretched wide, and Eyes staring.  Har. groping thrusts his Hand into his Mouth, he bites him, the other dares not cry out.

Har.  Ha, what’s this? all Mouth, with twenty rows of Teeth.—­Now dare not I cry out, lest the Doctor shou’d come, find me here, and kill me—­I’ll try if it be mortal.

    [Making damnable Faces and signs of Pain, he draws a Dagger.  Scar.
    feels the Point of it, and shrinks back, letting go his Hand.

Scar.  Who the Devil can this be?  I felt a Poniard, and am glad I sav’d my Skin from pinking. [Steals out.

        [Harlequin groping about, finds the Table, on which
        there is a Carpet, and creeps under it, listening.