The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iii Part 125

[_Ex_. Doct. _and_ Peter.

_Scar_. No, Sir, 'tis Morning now--and I'm up for all day.--This Madness is a pretty sort of pleasant Disease, when it tickles but in one Vein--Why, here's my Master now, as great a Scholar, as grave and wise a Man, in all Argument and Discourse, as can be met with; yet name but the Moon, and he runs into ridicule, and grows as mad as the Wind.

Well, Doctor, if thou canst be madder yet, We'll find a Medicine that shall cure your Fit,

--Better than all _Galenicus_.

[_Goes out_.

SCENE IV. _Draws off to_ Bellemante's _Chamber, discovers_ Elaria, Bellemante _and_ Mopsophil _in Night-Gowns_.

_Mop_. You have your Lessons, stand to it bravely, and the Town's our own, Madam.

[_They put themselves in Postures of Sleeping, leaning on the Table_, Mopsophil _lying at their Feet. Enter_ Doctor _softly_.

_Doct_. Ha, not in Bed! this gives me mortal Fears.

_Bell_. Ah, Prince-- [_She speaks as in her Sleep_.

_Doct_. Ha, Prince! [_Goes nearer, and listens_.

_Bell_. How little Faith I give to all your Courtship, who leaves our Orb so soon. [_In a feign'd Voice_.

_Doct_. Ha, said she Orb? [_Goes nearer_.

_Bell_. But since you are of a celestial Race, And easily can penetrate Into the utmost limits of the Thought, Why shou'd I fear to tell you of your Conquest?

--And thus implore your Aid.

[_Rises and runs to the_ Doctor; _kneels, and holds him fast. He shews signs of Joy_.

_Doct_. I am ravish'd!

_Bell_. Ah, Prince Divine, take pity on a Mortal.

_Doct_. I am rapt!

_Bell_. And take me with you to the World above!

_Doct_. The Moon, the Moon she means; I am transported, over-joy'd, and ecstasyd!

[_Leaping and jumping from her Hands, she seems to wake_.

_Bell_. Ha, my Uncle come again to interrupt us!

_Doct_. Hide nothing from me, my dear _Bellemante_, since all already is discover'd to me--and more.

_Ela_. Oh, why have you wak'd me from the softest Dream that ever Maid was blest with?

_Doct_. What--what, my best _Elaria_? [_With over-joy_.

_Ela_. Methought I entertain'd a Demi-G.o.d, one of the gay Inhabitants of the Moon.

_Bell_. I'm sure mine was no Dream--I wak'd, I heard, I saw, I spoke--and danc'd to the Musick of the Spheres; and methought my glorious Lover ty'd a Diamond Chain about my Arm--and see 'tis all substantial. [_Shows her Arm_.

_Ela_. And mine a Ring, of more than mortal l.u.s.tre.

_Doct_. Heaven keep me moderate! lest excess of Joy shou'd make my Virtue less. [_Stifling his Joy_.

--There is a wondrous Mystery in this, A mighty Blessing does attend your Fates.

Go in and pray to the chaste Powers above To give you Virtue for such Rewards. [_They go in_.

--How this agrees with what the learned Cabalist inform'd me of last Night! He said, that great _Iredonozor_, the Emperor of the Moon, was enamour'd on a fair Mortal. It must be so--and either he descended to court my Daughter personally, which for the rareness of the Novelty, she takes to be a Dream; or else, what they and I beheld, was visionary, by way of a sublime Intelligence:--And possibly--'tis only thus: the People of that World converse with Mortals.--I must be satisfy'd in this main Point of deep Philosophy.

I'll to my Study,--for I cannot rest, Till I this weighty Mystery have discuss'd.

[_Ex. very gravely_.

SCENE V. _The Garden_.

_Enter_ Scaramouch _with a Ladder_.

_Scar_. Though I am come off _en Cavalier_ with my Master, I am not with my Mistress, whom I promised to console this Night, and 'tis but just I shou'd make good this Morning; 'twill be rude to surprize her sleeping, and more gallant to wake her with a Serenade at her Window.

[_Sets the Ladder to her Window, fetches his Lute and goes up the ladder_.

He plays and sings this Song.

_When Maidens are young and in their Spring Of Pleasure, of Pleasure, let 'em take their full Swing, full Swing,--full Swing, And love, and dance, and play, and sing.

For_ Silvia, _believe it, when Youth is done, There's nought but hum drum, hum drum, hum drum; There's nought but hum drum, hum drum, hum drum.

Then_ Silvia _be wise--be wise--be wise, Though Painting and Dressing for awhile are Supplies, And may--surprise-- But when the Fire's going out in your Eyes, It twinkles, it twinkles, it twinkles, and dies.

And then to hear Love, to hear Love from you, I'd as live hear an Owl cry--Wit to woo, Wit to woo, wit to woo_.

_Enter _Mopsophil_ above_.

_Mop_. What woful Ditty-making Mortal's this, That e'er the Lark her early Note has sung, Does doleful Love beneath my Cas.e.m.e.nt thrum?

-Ah, Seignior _Scaramouch_, is it you?

_Scar_. Who shou'd it be that takes such pains to sue!

_Mop_. Ah, Lover most true blue.

_Enter_ Harlequin _in Woman's Clothes_.

_Har_. If I can now but get admittance, I shall not only deliver the young Ladies their Letters from their Lovers, but get some opportunity, in this Disguise, to slip this _Billet-Doux_ into _Mopsophil's_ Hand, and bob my Comrade _Scaramouch_.--Ha, What do I see?--My Mistress at the Window, courting my Rival! Ah Gipsy!