_Harl._ I believe Mr. Doctor is very Busy; but I'll rap this time with Authority. [Harlequin _raps at the Door_, Scaramouche _peeps out_. Harlequin _strikes him, and jumps back, runs frighted off_. _Scene changes to a Room in the Doctor's House._ _Enter_ Scaramouche, _with a Book in the Doctor's Gown_. _Scar._ I have left the Door open to save the Devil the labour of Knocking, if he has a mind to come in: For I am resolved not to stir from my Book; I found it in the Doctor's Closet, and know it must contain Something of the Black Art. _Enter_ Harlequin. _Harl._ Oh here's Mr. Doctor himself; he's reading some conjuring Book. _Ide fain jecit._ _Scar._ This must be a conjuring Book by the hard Words. AB, EB, IB, OB, UB, BA, BO, BU, BI. _Harl._ Its a Child's Primer. [Harlequin _looks over him_. _Scar._ The Devil, the Devil; be gon, avoid Satan. [_Runs off._ _Harl._ O the Devil! Now will I lye as if I were Dead, and let the Devil go hunt for my Soul. [_Lyes down._ _Enter_ Scaramouche. _Scar._ I have learn'd to raise the Devil, but how the Devil shall I do to lay him. Ha! what's here, a dead Body? The Devil assum'd this Body, and when I began to mutter my Prayers, he was in such haste he left his Carcass behind him. Ha! it stirs; no, 'twas but my Fancy. [Scaram. _lifts up all his Limbs, and lets 'em fall, whil'st_ Harl. _hits him on the Breech, lifts his Head, which falls gently_. All's dead but's Head. [_Sets him upright._ The Devil, the Devil! Be gon; what art thou? _Harl._ A poor unfortunate Devil. _Scar._ The Devil; _Avant_ then _Hagon mogon strogon_. _Harl._ O good Mr. Doctor, conjure up no more Devils and I'll be gon, or any thing.--I came only to ask your Black Artship a Question. _Scar._ No, this is not the Devil. Who art thou? Whence comest thou? What's thy Business, Quick, or _Hogon strogon_? _Harl._ Hold, hold, hold, I am poor _Harlequin_: By the Learned I am called _Zane_, by the Vulgar _Jack Pudding_. I was late Fool to a Mountebank; and last Night, in the mistaking the Pipkin, I eat up a Pot of _Bolus_ instead of Hasty Pudding; and devour'd Three Yards of _Diaculum_ Plaister instead of Pancake, for which my Master has turn'd me out of Doors instead of Wages: Therefore, to be reveng'd, I come to hire a Devil or two of you, Mr. Doctor, of a strong Constitution, that may swallow up his Turpentine Pills as fast as he makes 'em, that he may never cure poor Whore more of a Clap; and then he'll be undone, for they are his chief Patients. _Scar._ What Practice has he? _Harl._ Why his Business is to patch up rotten Whores against the Term for Country Lawyers, and Attorneys Clerks; and against _Christmas_, _Easter_ and _Whitsun_ Holidays, for City Apprentices; and if his Pills be destroy'd, 'twill ruin him in one Term.