Bell.  We were unreasonable to forbid you that cold Joy, nor shall you wish long in vain, if you bring Matters so about, to get us with my Uncle’s Consent.

Ela.  Our Fortunes depending solely on his Pleasure, which are too considerable to lose.

Cin.  All things are order’d as I have written you at large; our Scenes and all our Properties are ready; we have no more to do but to banter the old Gentleman into a little more Faith, which the next Visit of our new Cabalist Charmante will complete.

[The Musick plays.

    Enter some Anticks, and dance.  They all sit the while.

Ela.  Your Dancers have performed well, but ’twere fit we knew who we have trusted with this Evening’s Intrigue.

Cin.  Those, Madam, who are to assist us in carrying on a greater Intrigue, the gaining of you.  They are our Kinsmen.

Ela.  Then they are doubly welcome.

    [Here is a Song in Dialogue, with Flute Doux and Harpsicals,
    between a Shepherd and Shepherdess; which ended, they all dance
    a Figure Dance.

Cin.  Hark, what Noise is that? sure ’tis in the next Room.

Doctor [Within.] Scaramouch, Scaramouch!

        [Scaramouch runs to the Door, and holds it fast.

Scar.  Ha,—­the Devil in the likeness of my old Master’s Voice, for it is impossible it should be he himself.

Char.  If it be he, how got he in? did you not secure the Doors?

Ela.  He always has a Key to open ’em.  Oh! what shall we do? there’s no escaping him; he’s in the next Room, through which you are to pass.

Doct. [Within.] Scaramouch, Knave, where are you?

Scar.  ’Tis he, ’tis he, follow me all—­

        [He goes with all the Company behind the Front Curtain.

Doct. [Within.] I tell you, Sirrah, I heard the noise of Fiddles.

Peter. [Within.]_ No surely, Sir, ’twas a Mistake.

        [Knocking at the Door.

    [Scaramouch having placed them all in the Hanging, in which they
    make the Figures, where they stand without Motion in Postures, he
    comes out.  He opens the Door with a Candle in his Hand.

        Enter the Doctor and Peter with a Light.

Scar.  Bless me, Sir!  Is it you—­or your Ghost?

Doct.  ’Twere good for you, Sir, if I were a thing of Air; but as I am a substantial Mortal, I will lay it on as substantially—­
                                             [Canes him.  He cries.

Scar.  What d’ye mean, Sir? what d’ye mean?

Doct.  Sirrah, must I stand waiting your Leisure, while you are roguing here?  I will reward ye. [Beats him.

Scar.  Ay, and I shall deserve it richly, Sir, when you know all.