_Urlan._ All things are in readiness according to your desire; _Darno_ is raising an Army in the _North_, _Lomporhomock_ is now landing in the _South_ with 20000 Men, and when the Tidings reach the King’s Ears, he’ll extend his Army to the _North_ and to the _South_; then, when his Forces have left the City, the 500 Men which I have hired, for what Purpose they know not, but exactly at two a-Clock in the Morning, each Man is to fire a Gun upon the House-top; this repeated three times, will drive every wandering Soul home to his Body, and raise him from Sleep surprized. _Daro._ That’s true. _Urlan._ You and I with a small Body of Men, will march through the City with a Shout, saying, The City is surrounded with Foreigners, Fire and Sword, Fire and Sword! rise, rise quickly, rise to Arms. _Daro._ That’s good; then in a moment’s time we shall be at the Head of 100,000 Men. _Urlan._ We’ll plunder Misers Houses, distribute their Bags, hurling the Coin among them, like Hounds besmear’d with the blood of Prey, mount Resolution upon the Heart, ride furiously, Whip and Spur, and with deep mouth’d Tones, full Cry, and in that Vehemence of Spirit, they will devour a savage Lion. We’ll prejudice them against the King, lead them to the Court, and take possession of all. _Daro._ So farewel, my Lord; remember two a-clock. [_Exeunt severally._ _Enter_ Sementory _and_ Seringo. _Serin._ _Sementory_, to thy Tire. _Sem._ I’m weary of Dress, pall’d with Pleasure, sick of the event of vain Hopes: Some say that Marriage is made in Heaven; but ’tis my Opinion, if all the Harlots were sent to the Grand _Turk_, there would be more Weddings celebrated in Heaven than there are; I perceive the Fire of the Men is all out. _Serin._ Very true, _Sementory_. _Sem._ They gaze upon a Woman, as they do upon a Bill of Fare after Dinner. _Sem._ Oh _Seringo_! where shall I find a vertuous Man, like such a one that I have seen, chaste, and full of Rapture? Rapture is the Egg of Love, hatched by a radiant Eye, that brings to Life a _Cupid_ in his Breast. In thy Company he’s tasteless of Food and Wine, he’s restless, he’s empty of Words, and full of Sighs, is in a shivering Ague chill’d; then in a moment rais’d by the high Fever of Love, is in extatick Raptures, his Opticks are like two Balls of Fire, and look as fierce as if he took Gunpowder-Snuff; could you love such a one? _Serin._ How gay, how free, how merry is he! How full of Charms to move! His Soul is full of Love. _Enter_ Hurlothrumbo. _Sem._ What, not a Word? sure ’tis pain to speak? _Hurlo._ My Tongue is Thought’s Midwife, and has been a gossiping all Night with a very fine Lady, and is not able now to perform her Office. _Sem._ The rich _Molotto_ Lady, I presume? _Hurlo._ She is rich, do you not like her for that?