humbly kiss your Hands, most learned Sir.

[Charmante _goes out_. Doctor _waits on him to the Door,
and returns: to him_ Scaramouch. _All this while_ Harlequin
_was hid in the Hedges, peeping now and then, and when his
Master went out he was left behind_.

_Scar_. So, so, Don _Charmante_ has played his Part most exquisitely;
I'll in and see how it works in his Pericranium.
--Did you call, Sir?

_Doct. Scaramouch_, I have, for thy singular Wit and Honesty, always
had a Tenderness for thee above that of a Master to a Servant.

_Scar_. I must confess it, Sir.

_Doct_. Thou hast Virtue and Merit that deserves much.

_Scar_. Oh Lord, Sir!

_Doct_. And I may make thee great;--all I require, is, that thou wilt
double thy diligent Care of my Daughter and my Niece; for there are
mighty things design'd for them, if we can keep 'em from the sight
of Man.

_Scar_. The sight of Man, Sir!

_Doct_. Ay, and the very Thoughts of Man.

_Scar_. What Antidote is there to be given to a young Wench, against the
Disease of Love and Longing?

_Doct_. Do you your Part, and because I know thee discreet and very
secret, I will hereafter discover Wonders to thee. On pain of Life, look
to the Girls; that's your Charge.

_Scar_. Doubt me not, Sir, and I hope your Reverence will reward my
faithful Services with _Mopsophil_, your Daughter's Governante, who is
rich, and has long had my Affection, Sir.

[Harlequin _peeping, cries Oh Traitor_!

_Doct_. Set not thy Heart on transitory Mortal, there's better things in
store--besides, I have promis'd her to a Farmer for his Son.--Come in
with me, and bring the Telescope.

[_Ex_. Doctor _and_ Scaramouch.

Harlequin _comes out on the Stage_.

_Har_. My Mistress _Mopsophil_ to marry a Farmer's Son! What, am I then
forsaken, abandon'd by the false fair One? If I have Honour, I must die
with Rage; Reproaching gently, and complaining madly. It is resolv'd,
I'll hang my self--No, when did I ever hear of a Hero that hang'd him
self?--No, 'tis the Death of Rogues. What if I drown my self?--No,
Useless Dogs and Puppies are drown'd; a Pistol or a Caper on my own
Sword wou'd look more nobly, but that I have a natural Aversion to Pain.
Besides, it is as vulgar as Rats-bane, or the slicing of the Weasand.
No, I'll die a Death uncommon, and leave behind me an eternal Fame. I
have somewhere read an Author, either antient or modern, of a Man that
lau