Enter Bellemante, with a Candle in one Hand,
and a Book in the other.

Bell.  I am in a Belle Humor for Poetry to-night;
I’ll make some Boremes on Love. [She writes and studies.
Out of a great Curiosity,—­A Shepherd did demand of me.—­
No, no,—­A Shepherd this implor’d of me.
                                [Scratches out, and writes a-new. 
Ay, ay, so it shall go.—­Tell me, said he, can you resign?—­
Resign, ay, what shall rhyme to Resign?—­Tell me, said he.—­
                      [She lays down the Tablets, and walks about.

[Harlequin peeps from under the Table, takes the Book,
writes in it, and lays it up before she can turn.

[Reads.] Ay, ay, so it shall be,—­Tell me, said he, my
Bellemante; Will you be kind to your Charmante?
                          [Reads those two lines, and is amaz’d. 
Ha, Heav’ns!  What’s this?  I am amaz’d! 
—­And yet I’ll venture once more. [Writes and studies.
—­I blushed and veil’d my wishing Eyes.
             [Lays down the Book, and walks as before.
—­Wishing Eyes! [Har. writes as before.
            [She turns and takes the Tablet.
—­And answer’d only with my Sighs. 
Ha!  What is this?  Witchcraft, or some Divinity of Love? 
Some Cupid sure invisible. 
Once more I’ll try the Charm. [Writes. 
—­Cou’d I a better way my Love impart?
                      [Studies and walks.
—­Impart—­ [He writes as before.
—­And without speaking, tell him all my Heart. 
—­’Tis here again, but where’s the Hand that writ it?
                                          [Looks about. 
—­The little Deity that will be seen
But only in his Miracles.  It cannot be a Devil,
For here’s no Sin nor Mischief in all this.

Enter Charmante. She hides the Tablet, he steps
to her, and snatches it from her and reads.

Char. reads.

Out of a great Curiosity, A Shepherd this implor’d of me.  Tell me, said he, my Bellemante, Will you be kind to your Charmante? I blush’d, and veil’d my wishing Eyes, And answer’d only with my Sighs.  Cou’d I a better way my Love impart?  And without speaking, tell him all my Heart.

Char.  Whose is this different Character? [Looks angry.

Bell.  ’Tis yours for ought I know.

Char.  Away, my Name was put here for a blind.  What Rhiming Fop have you been clubbing Wit withal?

Bell.  Ah! mon Dieu!—­Charmante jealous?

Char.  Have I not cause?—­Who writ these Boremes?

Bell.  Some kind assisting Deity, for ought I know.

Char.  Some kind assisting Coxcomb, that I know.  The Ink’s yet wet, the Spark is near I find.—­