[Cinthio takes Elaria by the Hand; Charmante, Bellemante; two of the Singers in white being Priests, they lead ’em to the Altar, the whole Company dividing on either side.  Where, while a Hymeneal Song is sung, the Priest joins their Hands:  The Song ended, and they marry’d, they come forth; but before they come forward, two Chariots descend one on one side above, and the other on the other side; in which is Harlequin dress’d like a Mock Hero, with others; and Scaramouch in the other, dress’d so in Helmets.

Scar.  Stay, mighty Emperor, and vouchsafe to be the Umpire of our Difference. [Cinthio signs to Keplair.

Kep.  What are you?

Scar.  Two neighbouring Princes to your vast Dominion.

Har.  Knights of the Sun, our honourable Titles, And fight for that fair Mortal, Mopsophil.

Mop.  Bless us!—­my two precious Lovers, I’ll warrant; well, I had better take up with one of them, than lie alone to Night.

Scar.  Long as two Rivals we have lov’d and hop’d,
Both equally endeavour’d, and both fail’d. 
At last by joint Consent, we both agreed
To try our Titles by the Dint of Lance,
And chose your Mightiness for Arbitrator.

Kep.  The Emperor gives Consent.

[They both all arm’d—­with gilded Lances and Shields of Black, with golden Suns painted.  The Musick plays a fighting Tune.  They fight at Barriers, to the Tune.—­Harlequin is often foil’d, but advances still; at last Scaramouch throws him, and is Conqueror; all give Judgment for him.

Kep.  The Emperor pronounces you are Victor.—­ [To Scar.

Doct.  Receive your Mistress, Sir, as the Reward of your undoubted
Valour—­
            [Presents Mopsophil.

Scar.  Your humble Servant, Sir, and Scaramouch returns you humble Thanks. [Puts off his Helmet.

Doct.  Ha,—­Scaramouch!
     [Bawls out, and falls in a Chair.  They all go to him. 
My Heart misgives me—­Oh, I am undone and cheated every way.
          
                                       [Bawling out.

Kep.  Be patient, Sir, and call up all your Virtue,
You’re only cur’d, Sir, of a Disease
That long has reign’d over your nobler Faculties. 
Sir, I am your Physician, Friend and Counsellor;
It was not in the Power of Herbs or Minerals,
Of Reason, common Sense, and right Religion,
To draw you from an Error that unmann’d you.

Doct.  I will be patient, Gentlemen, and hear you.  —­Are not you Ferdinand?

Kep.  I am,—­and these are Gentlemen of Quality,
That long have lov’d your Daughter and your Niece;
Don Cinthio this, and this is Don Charmante,
The Vice-Roy’s Nephews both. 
Who found as Men—­’twas impossible to enjoy ’em,
And therefore try’d this Stratagem.