Love in the dark, or, The man of bus'ness a comedy : acted at the Theatre Royal by His Majesties servants / written by Sir Francis Fane, Junior, Knight of the Bath.

The SCENE, a Street.

Four Arm'd Men, whereof Visconti is one, in his French Habit, ridiculously Arm'd.

Visc.

The Princess Parhelia has ingag'd me here upon one

of her froliques: and I cannot play the fool in a better Habit.

1 Man.

Why, Mounsou, you are provided for a seven years War.

Visc.

How do me ken-now but me must feeght wid de Regi∣ment des Espagniol; and begar, me do deseer to have de ho∣neur of the first Sharge.

2 Man.

Pray let him have it, for they seldom charge twice.

Visc.

Me have de natural Antipaty to des Spagnols, and de Milanees, de Sujets of de Roy d'Espagne, and me de love to chercher l'occasion. Begar, dare is no man in de verld can feeght in de partees like a de French Academists, and de Me∣tre Fence, and de Metre Dance, Francois. One Man will beat twantee. De agilité of de Hoarse in de Academiste, and of de Fout in de Metre Dance, and Metre Fence, Sa, Sa, here, dare: sometime de grand Saut de recule, de pyroiste, de caprioles; de animee can no tell how to level de Muskets, nor de Guns.

3 Man.

I, Mounsou, I know he that kills a Frenchman, must shoot flying.

Visc.

I begar: den dare is an oder ding, to kill a man wid de good grace, de bonne mine, and de address; 'twill doe good to de anemee to be kill so.

1 Man.

Here comes Sforza: now we shall hear some of the Lovers Litany.

Clap on their Visors.

Enter Sforza, and knocks with his Key on his Hilt. Parhelia appears, Masqu'd, at the Window.

Sfor.

Still overcast? when will my Heav'n appear?

Parh.

Oh, Sir, this Mift will make the day more clear.

Sfor.

I need not beg for flames t'increase my store; Yet Love is covetous, and would have more.

Parh.

Is Love a Miser? he shall feed his Eye: Still look upon his wealth, but ne'r enjoy.

Sfor.

Oh cruel Saint! that fatal voice revoke.

Parh.

Then learn to hope for Fire, and Court the Smoak, Beauty's the Book of Fate, Fear my intent: 'Tis better not to know, than not prevent.

Visc.

De Diable is in dis Love; no ding but de feere, de flame, de smock, de wound, de death, and de Bougre de Lovere is ver vell, ver gay, fresh, frolick, and feel no pain in de vol verld! Ke Diable est Sa!

They seize Sforza behind.

Sfor.

Villains stand off.

Visconti flies back.

Parh.

Ai, Ai! Shrieks.

1 Man.

How now, Mounsou? you have a natural Antipatee to the King of Spain's Subjects, you dare not come near 'em.

Visc.

Dat is ver true, me do keep my self for de Reserve, dat is de kalitee of de good Soldat.

2 Man.

Oh, I know the reason now, de Spagnol cannot kill you wid de good grace.

1 Man.

Stand still, or you're a dead Man.

Sfor.

Slaves, Dogs.

Parh.

Murder, murder, Help, help.

Sforza struggles to get his Sword, they disarm him.

Sfor.

Cowardly Slaves, give me but leave to fight. The odds shall make no difference.

Chair brought in.

1 Man,

Into this Chair, Sir, quick: it is a mercy shew'd you.

Parh.

Murder, murder, Help, help.

Sforza is carried off, they guarding the Chair.

She unmasks, So, is he gone? I'll be with him presently, and and Laughs search him to the quick. How bravely Visconti perform'd his part! Little does Sforza know, what pains Par∣helia takes to cheat him of the Doge's Daughter. Woman scarce knows her self:

Then who can search the Mazes of a Heart Where natural imperfection joyns with Art?

Exit

Enter Circumstantio and Intrigo.

Cir.

Mr. Black, you belong to some Nobleman of this quar∣ter, did you not see my Master Signior Intrigo hereabouts.

Int.

A new Trial! Pray Heaven he know me not. How should I know thy Master?

Circ.

Oh every body knows him.

Int.

However, 'twill be some delight to hear my own Cha∣racter from a Domestick: Germanicus disguis'd himself in a

Calfe-Skin to hear the commendations of his Soldiers, with∣out offence to his modesty.

Why, truly, when I was upon S. Mark's, He was there too; we came away together: But where he is now, you that are his Servant Ought to know better than another. This is no lye now.

Cir.

But pray, Sir, let me know; I have some earn∣est business with him from the Doge's Lock-smith, that makes his Keys for the Privy Garden, and the Anti-Ca∣meras,

Intr.

I'm overjoy'd I shall prevail for a Key; but this is no time to take notice of it.

Aside.

Why, honest friend; possibly your Master is in close Council with the Doge, or the Council of Ten; and therefore not to be spoke with.

Cir.

Think you so indeed? I never knew any Man pretend to so much familiarity with the great ones, as he does: every morning our House is full of under-Clerks and Door-keepers; and they get a world of Money of him, by feeding him with Lies, or impertinent Truths, by telling him how many Caps, and what Cloaths the Doge puts on every day; what he eats and drinks, and how many Stools he has.

Int.

Your Masters a discreet Man, I will not say wise and grave: you do ill to abuse him.

Cir.

What's that to you, Sir? I need none of your teach∣ing, Goodman Black, 'Twas never a good World, since there were so many Black moors and Frenchmen in the Nation.

Int.

You're a saucy Knave, Sirrah.

Cir.

Call me saucy Knave, who am chief Man to Signior In∣trigo, you whorson Blackmore Dog you! No, Sir, I'de have you know, though my Master be one of the simpler sort of wise Men, yet, being his Servant, I'll take the Knave of ne'r a Man in Italy. Call me knave, you saucy Jack!

Boxes him.

Int. shruging up his shoulders.

Poor Circumstantio! yet he shows some re∣spect to me in even his wrath: he glories in being my servant, and quarrell'd with me in my own behalf, to uphold my Honor.

These afflictions are incident to these great designs of going

Incognito.

Cir.

Incognito! do you steal my Master's words, you impu∣dent Rascal you? my Honorable Master's own words? are such words fit for your mouth, you pitiful Rogue? have at you once more for your fine word Incognito, forsooth! In∣cognito, with a vengeance, Incognito.

Beats him off. Exeunt.