e all undone.

_Char_. I will not hide, till I know the thing that made the Verses.
[_The Doctor calling as on the Stairs_.

_Doct. Bellemante_, Niece,--_Bellemante_.

_Scar_. She's coming, Sir.--Where, where shall I hide him?
--Oh, the Closet's open!
[_Thrusts him into the Closet by force_.

_Enter_ Doctor.

_Doct_. Oh Niece! Ill Luck, Ill Luck, I must leave you to night; my
Brother the Advocate is sick, and has sent for me; 'tis three long
Leagues, and dark as 'tis, I must go.--They say he is dying. Here, take
my Keys, [_Pulls out his Keys, one falls down_.
and go into my Study, and look over all my Papers, and bring me all those
mark'd with a Cross and figure of Three, they concern my Brother and I.

[_She looks on_ Scaramouch, _and makes pitiful Signs, and goes out_.

--Come, _Scaramouch_, and get me ready for my Journey; and on your Life,
let not a Door be open'd till my Return.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Mopsophil. Har. _peeps from under the Table_.

_Har_. Ha! _Mopsophil_, and alone!

_Mop_. Well, 'tis a delicious thing to be rich; what a world of Lovers
it invites: I have one for every Hand, and the Favorite for my Lips.

_Har_. Ay, him wou'd I be glad to know. [_Peeping_.

_Mop_. But of all my Lovers, I am for the Farmer's Son, because he keeps
a Calash--and I'll swear a Coach is the most agreeable thing about
a Man.

_Har_. Ho, ho!

_Mop_. Ah, me,--What's that?

[_He answers in a shrill Voice_.

_Har_. The Ghost of a poor Lover, dwindled into a Heyho.

[_He rises from under the Table, and falls at her Feet_.
Scaramouch _enters. She runs off squeaking_.

_Scar_. Ha, My Rival and my Mistress!--Is this done like a Man of
Honour, Monsieur _Harlequin_, to take advantages to injure me? [_Draws_.

_Har_. Advantages are lawful in Love and War.

_Scar_. 'Twas contrary to our League and Covenant; therefore I defy thee
as a Traytor.

_Har_. I scorn to fight with thee, because I once call'd thee Brother.

_Scar_. Then thou art a Poltroon, that's to say, a Coward.

_Har_. Coward! nay, then I am provok'd, come on.

_Scar_. Pardon me, Sir, I gave the Coward, and you ought to strike.

[_They go to fight ridiculously, and ever as_ Scaramouch
_passes_, Harlequin _leaps aside, and skips so nimbly about,
he cannot touch him for his Life; which after a while