to the Chamber, and had like to have taken
_Cinthio_ with me, when, to conceal him, I put him into your Closet, not
knowing of _Charmante's_ being there, and which, in the dark, he took
for a Gallant of mine; had not my Father's Presence hinder'd, I believe
there had been Murder committed; however they both escap'd unknown.

_Scar_. Pshaw, is that all? Lovers Quarrels are soon Adjusted; I'll to
'em, unfold the Riddle, and bring 'em back--take no care, but go in and
dress you for the Ball; _Mopsophil_ has Habits which your Lovers sent to
put on: the Fiddles, Treat, and all are prepar'd.
[_Exit_.

_Enter_ Mopsophil.

_Mop_. Madam, your Cousin _Florinda_, with a Lady, are come to visit
you.

_Bell_. I'm glad on't, 'tis a good Wench, and we'll trust her with our
Mirth and Secret.

[_They go out_.

SCENE II. _Changes to the Street_.

_Enter Page with a Flambeaux, followed by_ Cinthio; _passes over
the Stage_. Scaramouch _follows_ Cinthio _in a Campaign Coat_.

_Scar_. 'Tis _Cinthio_--Don _Cinthio_. [_Calls, he turns_.
Well, what's the Quarrel?--How fell ye out?

_Cin_. You may inform your self I believe, for these close Intrigues
cannot be carried on without your Knowledge.

_Scar_. What Intrigues, Sir? be quick, for I'm in haste.

_Cin_. Who was the Lover I surpriz'd i'th' Closet?

_Scar. Deceptio visus_, Sir; the Error of the Eyes.

_Cin_. Thou Dog, I felt him too; but since the Rascal 'scaped me,
I'll be reveng'd on thee.

[_Goes to beat him; he running away, runs against_
Harlequin, _who is entering with_ Charmante, _and
like to have thrown 'em both down_.

_Char_. Ha,--What's the matter here?

_Scar_. Seignior Don _Charmante_.
[_Then he struts courageously in with 'em_.

_Char_. What, _Cinthio_ in a Rage!
Who's the unlucky Object?

_Cin_. All Man and Woman Kind: _Elaria's_ false.

_Char. Elaria_ false! take heed, sure her nice Virtue
Is proof against the Vices of her Sex.
Say rather _Bellemante_,
She who by Nature's light and wavering.
The Town contains not such a false Impertinent.
This Evening I surpriz'd her in her Chamber,
Writing of Verses, and between her Lines
Some Spark had newly pen'd his proper Stuff.
Curse of the Jilt, I'll be her Fool no more.

_Har_. I doubt you are mistaken in that, Sir, for 'twas
I was the Spark that writ the proper Stuff
To do you service.

_Char