Belphegor, or, The marriage of the Devil a tragi-comedy, lately acted at the Queen's Theatre in Dorset-garden / by Mr. Wilson.

SCENE III.

The Vineyard.

Enter Mattheo solus [In a black Velvet Coat. A tipt Cane, turning up his Mustachios. Strutting, and viewing himself.

IT is the same—Of a better Edition tho'—And truly (to give the Devil his due) He has shown himself, much a Gentleman; which is more, than I'll say of every Man—I have already dislodg'd him, from two great Ladies; and if it holds, but one Year, how shall I dispose of this good Fortune?—My Boy—An arrant Crack-rope; Fathers own Son—I'll breed him, to my own new Trade; and send him abroad, to take his Degree—My Daughter—Let me see—she shall Marry—some Count, or other.—

Enter Grimaldi.

But hold—who knows, but here may be another Customer—and if so, I must stand off, to raise the Price.

[Aside.

Gri.

Our Duke (Sir) is so well assured, of your more than ordinary faculty, at Exorcism, that (the Lady Julia) a Neice of ours, being at this time, a Demoniack, he sent me, to pray your help, and further, assure you, of as large a Reward, as your self could wish, or the ob∣liging a Prince may merit.

[Mattheo, puts on a starcht gravity.

Mat.

I shall be proud, Signior, if my poor Talent, might contribute any thing, to his Serenities, or your Service—How far have you pro∣ceeded?

Gri.

Try'd all, that Religion, or Physick could propose.

Mat.

Have ye erected a Scheme, to know, under what direction, the Lady lies; and what kind of Devil it is, that possesses her?

Gri.

I think, not.

Mat.

The reason I ask ye, is, Because there are diversities of De∣vils —some, so easie, gentle, quiet, ye may do what ye will with 'em—Others agen, so sullen, refractary, cross-grain'd, that neither Threats, Enchantments, nor Devotion it self, will do any good on 'em.

Gri.

I leave it wholly to ye.

Mat.

Then the first thing I'll do, shall be to erect one; both, as to the Horary Question, and the matter it self; And when I've done that, I'll make a step to the Lady (as Incognito) and give ye, my Judgment of it.

Gri.

And, credit me, it shall be gratefully acknowledg'd.

[Exit.

Mat.

So so; here's more Money coming—A Count, did I say. —We'll better consider it.

[Enter Roderigo behind him, and gives him a tap on the Shoulder.

—Thy Fist my Mephestophilus! And what? Thou'st left the Lady Julia asleep, to see a Friend?

Rod.

Thy self, thou mean'st—But how cam'st thou to know it?

Mat.

You see, how I improve, by your Acquaintance—'twas kind∣ly done—And now, your Parole—What sort of People have ye, in the other World?

Rod.

What not?

Mat.

Have ye any Divines among ye?

Rod.

Why truly—we were once afraid of 'em; And were ever and anon, making Laws against'em: 'till at last finding, we were more a∣fraid, than hurt; we left them at their Liberty, to come, or go—But for the School-men, we ever shackle them, for fear they make as much disturbance there, as they have already done, here.

Mat.

Any Physicians?

Rod.

And they too (for several Years together) had sent us so many on their Errand, that we grew jealous of them, as that, they design'd a Party: 'till coming to a better understanding, we have ever since, not deny'd 'em House-room, for past Services.

Mat.

Any Lawyers?

Rod.

What should they, do there? The poor Devils, have no Mo∣ney, and the Rich, will part with none—And yet we want not their, Company too—But (alass!) Let 'em get what Estate soever here, they bring not a Groat with 'em, as not doubting, but to raise another, a∣mong us: But there, the case is alter'd.

Mat.

Have ye any Poets?

Rod.

Of Pretenders, not the least Number: And even there too, some few, who (regarding Glory, more than Profit) in studying, to di∣vert others, slipt their Opportunities, and lost themselves.

Mat.

Have you any Philosophers?

Rod.

What—They sell Hawks-Bells, and Rattles?

Mat.

The same.

Rod.

We are, with them (like Rome of old, with their Figure-fling∣ers) ever banishing 'em, but never rid of 'em—However, we rec∣kon them, among the Vutuosi.

Mat.

What are those Virtuosi?

Rod.

They study Nature—As why a Fly, should have six Legs; and a Dromedary but four—Why a Cat, when she's pleas'd, holds her Tail an end; And a Dog wags his—Why Crabs go backward; and the like.

Mat.

And very useful Enquiries—What Painters have ye?

Rod.

The Truth is, we had once banisht 'em, for painting us, more

ugly than we are; 'till Michael Angelo's Day of Judgment, complemented us, with a Master of the Ceremonies; and Parmasano, and Carrachi, with their Improvements upon Aretine: Pieces (I assure ye) of as much Service to us, as their others of Devotion, had like to have done us mischief.

Mat.

But what becomes of Tyrants, and others, those common Pests of Mankind? A sort of Men, we read of, in old Story, though I think the Race, be wholly run out now.

Rod.

'Twould make ye laugh, to see 'em—One, cobling of old Shooes; another, heeling of Stockings; a third, rubbing the Sweat in Hot-houses.

Mat.

Have ye, the Pox, there too?

Rod.

Millions, of Millions: For they that bring it not with them, are sure to get it, on their first Landing.

Mat.

Well, thou'rt a merry Devil; and I must say, an honest Devil. —But heark ye—I must beat up your Quarters once more.

Rod.

What? never have done?

Mat.

You know I deliver'd ye from the Talons of the Law, and then, you told me, what a grateful, Gentleman Devil, you'd prove. —Prethee oblige me, this once, in quitting the Lady Julia, And I release thee of all demands whatever.

Rod.

And I have paid ye sufficiently.

Mat.

But I'm concern'd in this, beyond a Retreat—Prethee, this once or I must say too, thou art not, that grateful Devil I expected.

Rod.

How Sirrah! Tax me with Ingratitude!—Have ye forgot, 'twas I that made your Fortune? I that gave ye the occasion, of that Aphoris∣matical Cane? And reform'd your greasie Shamois, into Silks, and Sattins? —And are ye now grown Insolent? I'll make ye know, I can take back, as well as give: or otherwise, call me the most pitiful, poor-Spirited Ra∣scal of a Devil—

Mat.

Nay, let's not part in Anger: A word, with ye.

Rod.

As many words as you please; but no more stark Love, and Kindness.

[They whisper. Matheo takes him by the Collar.

Mat.

Now Sirrah too—And since, nothing else will do it, I'll e'en re∣turn ye to your Wife.—They struggle, Rod. sinks under him, and leaves a dead Body.

Now shall I be hang'd for killing this Rascal—There's no more to be done, but cut of his Head, and bury him; and then (perhaps) wanting a Retreat, he may quit the Lady, of himself—I'll run for a Hatchet, and do it.

[Exit Mattheo. Rod. springs up with a hollow Laugh.

Rod.

Hoh—Hoh—Hoh—

[Rod. runs. Belzebub rises with horror. Mat. returns with an Hatchet, trembles, drops it, and crowds himself up to the Wall.

Belz.

Whither Belphegor! Hold!

Rod.

My old Colleague, and Friend, Belzebub!

Belz.

Which, I, abjure—we've heard of ye; Thou poor, Thou pitiful, Hen-hearted, sneaking Devil!

Thou, General! A Scandal to the name: Where's all that Fable of the Giants War, Thou hast so often boasted, as thy Story?

Rod.

And 'tis my Glory yet.

Belz.

In Chimney-Corners: Thou, ever threw'st Ossa, on Pelion! Away, thou changeling!—No—thy best Pretence, Is the degenerate Off-spring, of their Gore; Their, Earth-born Gore: And all thy former Soul, Is dwindled, to a Gloe-worm—Thou, a Devil! A very Shame, t'us all.

Rod.

The Inclination, Follows the temper of the Body; And I, Was out, in mine.

Belz.

Thou mightest have chosen better: How many brave Bandits, were there hang'd, yearly, That durst have trod, the utmost Brink of Space; Have fought the Devil, on a Precipice; Brav'd Fate; And stood, a second, and third Thunder. And thou, to take, such a tame, sniveling Slave!

Rod

Men have no Windows in their Breast; and what Could I, judge of a Carkass?—He was handsome, And so, a step, to get a Wife; which you well know, Was the first thing, I was obliged to do.

Belz.

And thou hast, got one, with a Vengeance!

Mistaken Fool! As if Women knew not, what a Smock-face meant? —They take him, for one of themselves; only, that Nature, mi∣stook him in the Coineage—if ever they, loved any thing, it was a rough-hewn Fellow, that knew, what was fit for 'em, and let 'em have it—But never, their Wills—If they once get that Bitt between their Teeth, they run away with ye.

Rod.

I was to become, in all things, as a Man; And did not more than what other Men did—and, if your, Grand Cabal, knew 'em so well, why was I sent hither?

Belz.

As an honourable Spy—Thou hadst the World before thee; Every Lap, was thy Chapel of Ease; nor wert thou bound, to Resi∣dence.

Rod.

And yet, to marry, One?

Belz.

As, those other Men; for fashion-sake—You may easily believe, we design'd no Breed—But where lay the obligation of loving her, more than other Men, their Wives?—But to doat on her! 'tis thy Eternal Blot.

Rod.

There had been no quiet without it.

Belz.

Unthinking Sot! Could there be any, with it?—If so, what makes thee, shifting thus?—What's become of your Million of Duckats?

Rod.

My Wife has either spent, or cheated me of 'em.

Belz.

Beast of a Devil!—Must we, torment the Bowels of the Earth,

Or from our Treasure of the Ocean, the spoils of Wracks and Tem∣pests, furnish thee? Thy Folly, or thy Wife's, never to be satisfied—I know not what?

Rod.

Ye left me to my self; and I, was guided by others—What Counsel ever drew his own Conveyance?

Belz.

But thou, contrary, to all Rules of Practice, hast given thy self, Physick.

[Rod. steps forward to him.

Rod.

As his Pennance then, even take the Doctor.

Belz.

Stand off,—thou less than Man, and unworthy, the name, of Devil.—I hate a Trimming▪ Devil—keep off.

Rod.

You, are no competent Judge; you, were never Married, your self—I submit all to Lucifer.

Belz.

And when your time's expir'd, you shall be heard.

Rod.

But if either my Wife, or Creditors catch me in the mean time, I must, and will return, at all adventures.

Belz.

That, at your Peril—And remember, I tell it ye.

[Sinks. [Rod. goes up to Math. yet trembling, and takes up the Hatchet, and lifts it at him.

Rod.

Now Sirrah, remember for what, you brought this Hatchet—But I'm a Gentleman—Live—And trouble me no more.

[Exit with it.

Mat.

A fair Escape—But what shall I say to Grimaldi though—Why —he's a noble Person, and if I tell him the Truth, he may (perhaps) be satisfied; at least, for a while—And if I don't out-wit my Devil, at last, I give him leave to brain me.

[Exit.