_Doct_. But do you imagine, Sir, they will fall in love with an old Mortal? _Char_. They love not like the Vulgar, ‘tis the immortal Part they doat upon. _Doct_. But, Sir, I have a Niece and Daughter which I love equally, were it not possible they might be immortaliz’d? _Char_. No doubt on’t, Sir, if they be pure and chaste. _Doct_. I think they are, and I’ll take care to keep ‘em so; for I confess, Sir, I would fain have a Hero to my Grandson. _Char_. You never saw the Emperor of the Moon, Sir, the mighty _Iredonozar_? _Doct_. Never, Sir; his Court I have, but ‘twas confusedly too. _Char_. Refine your Thoughts, Sir, by a Moment’s Prayer, and try again. [_He prays_. Char. _claps the Glass with the Emperor on it, he looks in and sees it_. _Doct_. It is too much, too much for mortal Eyes! I see a Monarch seated on a Throne--but seems most sad and pensive. _Char_. Forbear then, Sir; for now his Love-Fit’s on, and then he wou’d be private. _Doct_. His Love-Fit, Sir! _Char_. Ay, Sir, the Emperor’s in love with some fair Mortal. _Doct_. And can he not command her? _Char_. Yes, but her Quality being too mean, he struggles, though a King, ‘twixt Love and Honour. _Doct_. It were too much to know the Mortal, Sir? _Char_. ‘Tis yet unknown, Sir, to the Caballists, who now are using all their Arts to find her, and serve his Majesty; but now my great Affair deprives me of you: To morrow, Sir, I’ll wait on you again; and now I’ve try’d your Virtue, tell you Wonders. _Doct_. I humbly kiss your Hands, most learned Sir. [Charmante _goes out_. Doctor _waits on him to the Door, and returns: to him_ Scaramouch. _All this while_ Harlequin _was hid in the Hedges, peeping now and then, and when his Master went out he was left behind_. _Scar_. So, so, Don _Charmante_ has played his Part most exquisitely; I’ll in and see how it works in his Pericranium. --Did you call, Sir? _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_!