All Joy to Mortals, Joy and Mirth,
Eternal IO’S sing;
The Gods of Love descend to Earth,
Their Darts have lost the Sting.
The Youth shall now complain no more
Of Sylvia’s needless Scorn,
But she shall love, if he adore,
And melt when he shall burn.
The Nymph no longer shall be shy,
But leave the jilting Road;
And Daphne now no more shall fly
The wounded panting God;
But all shall be serene and fair,
No sad Complaints of Love
Shall fill the gentle whispering Air,
No echoing Sighs the Grove.
Beneath the Shades young Strephon lies,
Of all his Wish possess’d;
Gazing on Sylvia’s charming Eyes,
Whose Soul is there confessed.
All soft and sweet the Maid appears,
With Looks that know no Art,
And though she yields with trembling Fears,
She yields with all her Heart.
— See, Sir, the Cloud of Foreigners appears, French, English, Spaniards, Danes, Turks, Russians, Indians, and the nearer Climes of Christendom; and lastly, Sir, behold the mighty Emperor. —
[A Chariot appears, made like a Half Moon, in which is Cinthio for the Emperor, richly dressed, and Charmante for the Prince, rich, with a good many Heroes attending. Cinthio’s Train born by four Cupids. The Song continues while they descend and land. They address themselves to Elaria and Bellemante. — Doctor falls on his Face, the rest bow very low as they pass. They make signs to Keplair.
Kep. The Emperor wou’d have you rise, Sir, he will expect no Ceremony from the Father of his Mistress. [Takes him up.
Doct. I cannot, Sir, behold his Mightiness — the Splendor of his Majesty confounds me.
Kep. You must be moderate, Sir, it is expected.
[The two Lovers make all the Signs of Love in dumb show to the Ladies, while the soft Musick plays again from the end of the Song.
Doct. Shall I not have the Joy to hear their heavenly Voices, Sir?
Kep. They never speak to any Subject, Sir, when they appear in Royalty, but by Interpreters, and that by way of Stentraphon, in manner of the Delphick Oracles.
Doct. Any way, so I may hear the Sense of what they wou’d say.
Kep. No doubt you will — But see the Emperor commands by Signs his Foreigners to dance.
[Soft Musick changes.
[A very Antick Dance. The Dance ended, the Front Scene draws off, and shows a Temple, with an Altar, one speaking through a Stentraphon from behind it. Soft Musick plays the while.
Kep. Most Learned Sir, the Emperor now is going to declare himself, according to his Custom, to his Subjects. Listen. —
Sten. Most Reverend Sir, whose Virtue did incite us,
Whose Daughter’s Charms did more invite us;
We come to grace her with that Honour,
That never Mortal yet had done her;
Once only, Jove was known in Story,
To visit Semele in Glory.
But fatal ’twas, he so enjoy’d her,
Her own ambitious Flame destroy’d her.
His Charms too fierce for Flesh and Blood,
She dy’d embracing of her God,
We gentler marks of Passion give,
The Maid we love, shall love and live;
Whom visibly we thus will grace,
Above the rest of human Race,
Say, is’t your Will that we shou’d wed her,
And nightly in Disguises bed her?
Doct. The Glory is too great for Mortal Wife.
[Kneels with Transport.
Sten. What then remains, but that we consummate This happy Marriage in our splendid State?
Doct. Thus low I kneel, in thanks for this great Blessing.
[Cinthio takes Elaria by the Hand; Charmante, Bellemante; two of the Singers in white being Priests, they lead ‘em to the Altar, the whole Company dividing on either side. Where, while a Hymeneal Song is sung, the Priest joins their Hands: The Song ended, and they marry’d, they come forth; but before they come forward, two Chariots descend one on one side above, and the other on the other side; in which is Harlequin dress’d like a Mock Hero, with others; and Scaramouch in the other, dress’d so in Helmets.
Scar. Stay, mighty Emperor, and vouchsafe to be the Umpire of our Difference. [Cinthio signs to Keplair.
Kep. What are you?
Scar. Two neighbouring Princes to your vast Dominion.
Har. Knights of the Sun, our honourable Titles, And fight for that fair Mortal, Mopsophil.
Mop. Bless us! — my two precious Lovers, I’ll warrant; well, I had better take up with one of them, than lie alone to Night.
Scar. Long as two Rivals we have lov’d and hop’d,
Both equally endeavour’d, and both fail’d.
At last by joint Consent, we both agreed
To try our Titles by the Dint of Lance,
And chose your Mightiness for Arbitrator.
Kep. The Emperor gives Consent.
[They both all arm’d — with gilded Lances and Shields of Black, with golden Suns painted. The Musick plays a fighting Tune. They fight at Barriers, to the Tune. — Harlequin is often foil’d, but advances still; at last Scaramouch throws him, and is Conqueror; all give Judgment for him.
Kep. The Emperor pronounces you are Victor. — [To Scar.
Doct. Receive your Mistress, Sir, as the Reward of your undoubted Valour — [Presents Mopsophil.
Scar. Your humble Servant, Sir, and Scaramouch returns you humble Thanks. [Puts off his Helmet.
Doct. Ha, — Scaramouch!
[Bawls out, and falls in a Chair. They all go to him.
My Heart misgives me — Oh, I am undone and cheated every way.
[Bawling out.
Kep. Be patient, Sir, and call up all your Virtue,
You’re only cur’d, Sir, of a Disease
That long has reign’d over your nobler Faculties.
Sir, I am your Physician, Friend and Counsellor;
It was not in the Power of Herbs or Minerals,
Of Reason, common Sense, and right Religion,
To draw you from an Error that unmann’d you.
Doct. I will be patient, Gentlemen, and hear you. — Are not you Ferdinand?
Kep. I am, — and these are Gentlemen of Quality, That long have lov’d your Daughter and your Niece; Don Cinthio this, and this is Don Charmante, The Vice-Roy’s Nephews both. Who found as Men— ’twas impossible to enjoy ‘em, And therefore try’d this Stratagem.
Cin. Sir, I beseech you, mitigate your Grief, Although indeed we are but mortal Men, Yet we shall love you, serve you, and obey you.
Doct. Are not you then the Emperor of the Moon? And you the Prince of Thunderland?
Cin. There’s no such Person, Sir.
These Stories are the Fantoms of mad Brains,
To puzzle Fools withal — the Wise laugh at ‘em —
Come, Sir, you shall no longer be impos’d upon.
Doct. No Emperor of the Moon, and no Moon World!
Char. Ridiculous Inventions.
If we ‘ad not lov’d you you’ad been still impos’d on;
You had brought a Scandal on your learned Name,
And all succeeding Ages had despis’d it.
[Doct. leaps up.
Doct. Burn all my Books and let my study blaze, Burn all to Ashes, and be sure the Wind Scatter the vile contagious monstrous Lyes. — Most Noble Youths — you’ve honour’d me with your Alliance, and you, and all your Friends, Assistances in this glorious Miracle, I invite to Night to revel with me. — Come all and see my happy Recantation of all the Follies, Fables have inspir’d till now. Be pleasant to repeat your Story, to tell me by what kind degrees you cozen’d me. I see there’s nothing in Philosophy — [Gravely to himself. Of all that writ, he was the wisest Bard, who spoke this mighty Truth —
“He that knew all that ever Learning writ,
Knew only this — that he knew nothing yet.”
[Exeunt.