Scar.  Pshaw, is that all?  Lovers Quarrels are soon Adjusted; I’ll to ’em, unfold the Riddle, and bring ’em back—­take no care, but go in and dress you for the Ball; Mopsophil has Habits which your Lovers sent to put on:  the Fiddles, Treat, and all are prepar’d.
          
                                    [Exit.

Enter Mopsophil.

Mop.  Madam, your Cousin Florinda, with a Lady, are come to visit you.

Bell.  I’m glad on’t, ’tis a good Wench, and we’ll trust her with our Mirth and Secret.

[They go out.

SCENE II. Changes to the Street.

Enter Page with a Flambeaux, followed by Cinthio; passes over
the Stage.  Scaramouch follows Cinthio in a Campaign Coat.

Scar.  ’Tis Cinthio—­Don Cinthio. [Calls, he turns.  Well, what’s the Quarrel?—­How fell ye out?

Cin.  You may inform your self I believe, for these close Intrigues cannot be carried on without your Knowledge.

Scar.  What Intrigues, Sir? be quick, for I’m in haste.

Cin.  Who was the Lover I surpriz’d i’th’ Closet?

Scar.  Deceptio visus, Sir; the Error of the Eyes.

Cin.  Thou Dog, I felt him too; but since the Rascal ’scaped me, I’ll be reveng’d on thee.

[Goes to beat him; he running away, runs against
Harlequin, who is entering with Charmante, and
like to have thrown ’em both down.

Char.  Ha,—­What’s the matter here?

Scar.  Seignior Don Charmante.
           [Then he struts courageously in with ’em.

Char.  What, Cinthio in a Rage!  Who’s the unlucky Object?

Cin.  All Man and Woman Kind:  Elaria’s false.

Char.  Elaria false! take heed, sure her nice Virtue
Is proof against the Vices of her Sex. 
Say rather Bellemante,
She who by Nature’s light and wavering. 
The Town contains not such a false Impertinent. 
This Evening I surpriz’d her in her Chamber,
Writing of Verses, and between her Lines
Some Spark had newly pen’d his proper Stuff. 
Curse of the Jilt, I’ll be her Fool no more.

Har.  I doubt you are mistaken in that, Sir, for ’twas I was the Spark that writ the proper Stuff To do you service.

Char.  Thou!

Scar.  Ay, we that spend our Lives and Fortunes here to serve you,—­to be us’d like Pimps and Scoundrels.  Come, Sir, satisfy him who ’twas was hid i’th’ Closet, when he came in and found you.

Cin.  Ha,—­is’t possible?  Was it Charmante?

Char.  Was it you, Cinthio?  Pox on’t, what Fools are we, we cou’d not know one another by Instinct?

Scar.  Well, well, dispute no more this clear Case, but let’s hasten to your Mistresses.