had been dying; but a duce on't,
who shou'd come in and spoil all but my Lover _Charmante_, so dress'd,
so gallant, that he drew together all the scatter'd fragments of my
Heart, confin'd my wandering Thoughts, and fixt 'em all on him: Oh, how
he look'd, how he was dress'd!

SINGS.

_Chevalier a Cheveux blonds,
Plus de Mouche, plus de Poudre,
Plus de Ribons et Cannons_.

--Oh, what a dear ravishing thing is the beginning of an Amour!

_Ela_. Thou'rt still in Tune, when wilt thou be tame, _Bellemante_?

_Bell_. When I am weary of loving, _Elaria_.

_Ela_. To keep up your Humour, here's a Letter from your _Charmante_.

Bellemante _reads_.

_Malicious Creature, when wilt thou cease to torment
me, and either appear less charming, or more kind? I languish
when from you, and am wounded when I see you, and yet I am
eternally courting my Pain. _Cinthio_ and I, are contriving
how we shall see you to Night. Let us not toil in vain; we
ask but your consent; the Pleasure will be all ours, 'tis therefore
fit we suffer all the Fatigue. Grant this, and love me, if you
will save the Life of_
Your _Charmante_.

--Live then, _Charmante_! Live as long as Love can last!

_Ela_. Well, Cousin, _Scaramouch_ tells me of a rare design's a
hatching, to relieve us from this Captivity; here are we mew'd up to be
espous'd to two Moon-calfs for ought I know; for the Devil of any human
thing is suffer'd to come near us without our Governante and Keeper, Mr.
_Scaramouch_.

_Bell_. Who, if he had no more Honesty and Conscience than my Uncle,
wou'd let us pine for want of Lovers: but thanks be prais'd, the
Generosity of our Cavaliers has open'd their obdurate Hearts with a
Golden Key, that lets 'em in at all Opportunities. Come, come, let's in,
and answer their Billet-Doux.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II. _A Garden_.

_Enter_ Doctor, _with all manner of Mathematical Instruments
hanging at his Girdle_; Scaramouch _bearing a Telescope twenty
(or more) Foot long_.

_Doct_. Set down the Telescope.--Let me see, what Hour is it?

_Scar_. About six a Clock, Sir.

_Doct_. Then 'tis about the Hour that the great Monarch of the Upper
World enters into his Closet; Mount, mount the Telescope.

_Scar_. What to do, Sir?

_Doct_. I understand, at certain moments critical, one may be snatch'd
of such a mighty consequence, to let the Sight into the S