_Doct_. Oh Niece! Ill Luck, Ill Luck, I must leave you to night; my Brother the Advocate is sick, and has sent for me; ‘tis three long Leagues, and dark as ‘tis, I must go.--They say he is dying. Here, take my Keys, [_Pulls out his Keys, one falls down_. and go into my Study, and look over all my Papers, and bring me all those mark’d with a Cross and figure of Three, they concern my Brother and I. [_She looks on_ Scaramouch, _and makes pitiful Signs, and goes out_. --Come, _Scaramouch_, and get me ready for my Journey; and on your Life, let not a Door be open’d till my Return. [_Exeunt_. _Enter_ Mopsophil. Har. _peeps from under the Table_. _Har_. Ha! _Mopsophil_, and alone! _Mop_. Well, ‘tis a delicious thing to be rich; what a world of Lovers it invites: I have one for every Hand, and the Favorite for my Lips. _Har_. Ay, him wou’d I be glad to know. [_Peeping_. _Mop_. But of all my Lovers, I am for the Farmer’s Son, because he keeps a Calash--and I’ll swear a Coach is the most agreeable thing about a Man. _Har_. Ho, ho! _Mop_. Ah, me,--What’s that? [_He answers in a shrill Voice_. _Har_. The Ghost of a poor Lover, dwindled into a Heyho. [_He rises from under the Table, and falls at her Feet_. Scaramouch _enters. She runs off squeaking_. _Scar_. Ha, My Rival and my Mistress!--Is this done like a Man of Honour, Monsieur _Harlequin_, to take advantages to injure me? [_Draws_. _Har_. Advantages are lawful in Love and War. _Scar_. ‘Twas contrary to our League and Covenant; therefore I defy thee as a Traytor. _Har_. I scorn to fight with thee, because I once call’d thee Brother. _Scar_. Then thou art a Poltroon, that’s to say, a Coward. _Har_. Coward! nay, then I am provok’d, come on. _Scar_. Pardon me, Sir, I gave the Coward, and you ought to strike. [_They go to fight ridiculously, and ever as_ Scaramouch _passes_, Harlequin _leaps aside, and skips so nimbly about, he cannot touch him for his Life; which after a while endeavouring in vain, he lays down his Sword_. --If you be for dancing, Sir, I have my Weapons for all occasions. [Scar. _pulls out a Flute Doux, and falls to playing_. Har. _throws down his, and falls a dancing; after the Dance, they shake hands_. _Har_. _Ha mon bon ami_.--Is not this better than duelling? _Scar_. But not altogether so heroick, Sir. Well, for the future, let us have fair play; no Tricks to undermine each other, but which of us is chosen to be the happy Man, the other shall be content. _Ela_. [_Within_.] Cousin _Bellemante_, Cousin. _Scar_. ‘Slife, let’s be gone, lest we be seen in the Ladies Apartment. [Scar. _slips_ Harlequin _behind the Door_. _Enter_ Elaria. _Ela_. How now, how came you here?--