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 damnable 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_. _Enter_ Bellemante, _with a Candle in one Hand, and a Book in the other_. _Bell_. I am in a _Belle_ Humor for Poetry to-night; I’ll make some Boremes on Love. [_She writes and studies_. _Out of a great Curiosity,--A Shepherd did demand of me_.-- No, no,--_A Shepherd this implor’d of me_. [_Scratches out, and writes a-new_. Ay, ay, so it shall go.--_Tell me, said he, can you resign?-- Resign_, ay, what shall rhyme to _Resign?--Tell me, said he_.-- [_She lays down the Tablets, and walks about_. [Harlequin _peeps from under the Table, takes the Book, writes in it, and lays it up before she can turn_.