The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iii Part 118

_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 n.o.bly, 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 laugh'd to death.--I am very ticklish, and am resolv'd to die that Death.--Oh, _Mopsophil_, my cruel _Mopsophil_!

[_Pulls off his Hat, Sword and Shoes_.

And now, farewel the World, fond Love, and mortal Cares.

[_He falls to tickle himself, his Head, his Ears, his Armpits, Hands, Sides, and Soles of his Feet; making ridiculous Cries and Noises of Laughing several ways, with Antick Leaps and Skips, at last falls down as dead.

Enter_ Scaramouch.

_Scar. Harlequin_ was left in the Garden, I'll tell him the News of _Mopsophil_. [Going forward, tumbles over him.

Ha, what's here? _Harlequin_ dead!

[_Heaving him up, he flies into a Rage_.

_Har_. Who is't that thus wou'd rob me of my Honour?

_Scar_. Honour, why I thought thou'dst been dead.

_Ha_. Why, so I was, and the most agreeably dead.

_Scar_. I came to bemoan with thee the mutual loss of our Mistress.

_Har_. I know it, Sir, I know it, and that thou art as false as she: Was't not a Covenant between us, that neither shou'd take advantage of the other, but both shou'd have fair play, and yet you basely went to undermine me, and ask her of the Doctor; but since she's gone, I scorn to quarrel for her--But let's like loving Brothers, hand in hand, leap from some Precipice into the Sea.

_Scar_. What, and spoil all my Clothes? I thank you for that; no, I have a newer way: you know I lodge four pair of Stairs high, let's ascend hither, and after saying our Prayers--

_Har_. Prayers! I never heard of a dying Hero that ever pray'd.

_Scar_. Well, I'll not stand with you for a Trifle--Being come up, I'll open the Cas.e.m.e.nt, take you by the Heels, and sling you out into the Street; after which, you have no more to do, but to come up and throw me down in my turn.

_Har_. The Atchievement's great and new; but now I think on't, I'm resolv'd to hear my Sentence from the Mouth of the perfidious Trollop, for yet I cannot credit it.

I'll to the Gipsy, though I venture banging, To be undeceiv'd, 'tis hardly worth the hanging.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE III. _The Chamber of_ Bellemante.

_Enter_ Scaramouch _groping_.

_Scar_. So, I have got rid of my Rival, and shall here get an Opportunity to speak with _Mopsophil_; for hither she must come anon, to lay the young Lady's Night-things in order; I'll hide my self in some Corner till she come.

[_Goes on to the further side of the Stage_.

_Enter_ Harlequin _groping_.

_Har_. So, I made my Rival believe I was gone, and hid my self till I got this Opportunity to steal to _Mopsophil's_ Apartment, which must be hereabouts; for from these Windows she us'd to entertain my Love.

[_Advances_.

_Scar_. Ha, I hear a soft Tread,--if it were _Mopsophil's_, she wou'd not come by dark.

[Harlequin _advancing runs against a Table, and almost strikes himself backwards_.

_Har_. What was that?--a Table, there I may obscure my self.

[_Groping for the Table_.

What a Devil, is it vanish'd?

_Scar_. Devil,--vanish'd! What can this mean? 'Tis a Man's Voice.--If it should be my Master the Doctor now, I were a dead Man;--he can't see me; and I'll put my self into such a Posture, that if he feel me, he shall as soon take me for a Church Spout as a Man.

[_He puts himself into a Posture ridiculous, his Arms a-kimbo, his Knees wide open, his Backside almost touching the Ground, his Mouth stretched wide, and Eyes staring_. Har. _groping thrusts his Hand into his Mouth, he bites him, the other dares not cry out_.

_Har_. Ha, what's this? all Mouth, with twenty rows of Teeth.--Now dare not I cry out, lest the Doctor shou'd come, find me here, and kill me--I'll try if it be mortal.

[_Making d.a.m.nable Faces and signs of Pain, he draws a Dagger_. Scar.

_feels the Point of it, and shrinks back, letting go his Hand_.

_Scar_. Who the Devil can this be? I felt a Poniard, and am glad I sav'd my Skin from pinking. [_Steals out_.

[Harlequin _groping about, finds the Table, on which there is a Carpet, and creeps under it, listening_.