Doct.  I guess all, Sirrah, and I heard all, and you shall be rewarded for all.  Where have you hid the Fiddles, you Rogue?

Scar.  Fiddles, Sir!

Doct.  Ay, Fiddles, Knave.

Scar.  Fiddles, Sir!—­Where?

Doct.  Here, here I heard ’em, thou false Steward of thy Master’s Treasure.

Scar.  Fiddles, Sir!  Sure ’twas Wind got into your Head, and whistled in your Ears, riding so late, Sir.

Doct.  Ay, thou false Varlet, there’s another debt I owe thee, for bringing me so damnable a Lye:  my Brother’s well—­I met his Valet but a League from Town, and found thy Roguery out. [Beats him.  He cries.

Scar.  Is this the Reward I have for being so diligent since you went?

Doct.  In what, thou Villain? in what?

    [The Curtain is drawn up, and discovers the Hangings where
    all of them stand.

Scar.  Why, look you, Sir, I have, to surprize you with Pleasure, against you came home, been putting up this Piece of Tapestry, the best in Italy, for the Rareness of the Figures, Sir.

Doct.  Ha! hum—­It is indeed a Stately Piece of Work; how came I by ’em?

Scar.  ’Twas sent your Reverence from the Virtuoso, or some of the Cabalists.

Doct.  I must confess, the Workmanship is excellent;—­but still I do insist I heard the Musick.

Scar.  ’Twas then the tuning of the Spheres, some Serenade, Sir, from the Inhabitants of the Moon.

Doct.  Hum, from the Moon,—­and that may be.

Scar.  Lord, d’ye think I wou’d deceive your Reverence?

Doct.  From the Moon, a Serenade,—­I see no signs on’t here, indeed it
must be so—­I’ll think on’t more at leisure.    [Aside. 
—­Prithee what Story’s this?    [Looks on the Hangings.

Scar.  Why, Sir,—­’Tis—­

Doct.  Hold up the Candles higher, and nearer.

[Peter and Scaramouch hold Candles near.  He takes a Perspective, and looks through it; and coming nearer Harlequin, who is placed on a Tree in the Hangings, hits him on the Head with his Trunchion.  He starts and looks about.  Harlequin sits still.

Scar_.  Sir—­

Doct.  What was that struck me?

Scar.  Struck you, Sir!  Imagination.

Doct.  Can my Imagination feel, Sirrah?

Scar.  Oh, the most tenderly of any part about one, Sir!

Doct.  Hum—­that may be.

Scar.  Are you a great Philosopher, and know not that, Sir?

Doct.  This Fellow has a glimpse of Profundity. [Aside.  Looks again.  —­I like the Figures well.

Scar.  You will, when you see ’em by Day-light, Sir.

[Har. hits him again.  The Doctor sees him.