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

SCENE II. A great Hall.

Enter Grimaldi, Mattheo.

Gri.

YOu're a Man of your word.

Mat.

And pray believe, I made not those Scruples, out of any repugnancy, or want of Will to serve ye, but, that in case my en∣deavours, answer not my desires, you might judge, the more favourably of me—Are all things ready?

Gri.

They are; and if you, want nothing, I'll go for the Lady.

Mat.

I only wait her—But be sure, you follow the Directions I gave ye.

Gri.

They shall be observ'd.

[Exit Grimaldi.

Mat.

And now, assist me thou great Patron of Mankind, Impudence! —I have some ends of Latin my self, besides a Bushel of hard Words, I learnt from others, if I can hit 'em right—However (like them) I'll trowl it of boldly, and enough of it: Nor shall that triflng Circumstance, of Sense, and Pertinence, be any Rub in my way—Ha'n't I heard a Man quote the Books he never read; and cited Authors, that never were? And ha'n't it past?—What should hinder it?

[Grimaldi returns with Julia, in an Elbow-Chair, well attended.

Jul.

Are you, there? I'll conjure ye—Unhand me Villains.

Mat.

And you too, nor Man, nor Devil: Semibovem{que} virum, Semi∣virum{que} bovem—[He whispers her] Belphegor; dear Belphegor; you know I once serv'd ye, at a dead lift—Come—be yet, civil, and depart—if not —this, is the last time of asking.

Jul.

I forbid the Banes; both Parties, are not agreed—Have I, gra∣velled so many Doctors, to turn out now, for a pitiful Vinerollo?—Let me, come at him.

Mat

Then know, foul Fiend—Conjuro, & commando tibi, by St. Hugh's Bones, St Luke's Face, and venire St. Gri. And by all the occult Quali∣ties, of Salt, Sulphur, and Mercury, I once more, command, and conjure ye, that ye make me direct answer, touching your self, your Tatterde∣mallions, and Puggs, and forthwith depart this Lady, with all your Signatures, Tricks, Trinkets, and Trumperies, from the Crown of her Head, to the Soal of her Foot: Under the pain, that I releage, and con∣sine ye, to your dismal Lake, for a Thousand Years, yet more, than were ever decreed ye.

Jul.

The Rogue's pleasant; and I'll humour him.

[Aside.

Mat.

Tell me I say, and conjure ye as before—What are ye?

Jul.

Shame faw him that speers, and kenns sa'wele.

Mat.

Your Name I say.

Jul.

Monsieur Devile: Don, or Signior Diavolo: Mine Here Tifle: He∣renagh mac Deul; or Sir Duncan, in the Devil's Name.

Mat.

What's here? Philippus, Aureolus, Theophrastus, Paracelsus, Bom∣bastus of Hoenhayim?—How many are there of ye?

Jul.

Ten hundred thousand Tun.

Mat.

Of what Order!

Jul.

Like other Bodies-aggregate; of none, nor ever reducible under any.

Mat.

At least, your Superior's Name.

Jul.

I never own'd any.

Mat.

Tell me I say; and Jubeo!—Is there Absoluta Potentia Asmodei, sive cujusvis alii; or a vitium Corporis, as say the Learned—What made ye first, possess her?

Jul.

Look on her, and answer your self: She's young, and handsome.

Mat.

So was your Wife Sirrah: And yet—

[She falls into a Fit.

This, will work, presently—[Aside] How long have ye been there.

Jul.

Much about the time, you crackt a Commandment, with your Taylor's Wife—[Mat. starts.] Are ye concern'd Gentlemen! Ha, hah!

Mat.

Bring me the Flagellum Daemonum—I'll taw ye.

Jul.

Or rather, give your self, the first Discipline, and I'll help, to lay it on—Ha, hah, ha!

Mat.

Once more, I say, turn out—Or by the Phoberon Phoberotaton; Ton de Apomeibomenos; And Heautontemorumenos—Smyrna, Rhodos, Colophon, Salamis, Chios, Argos, Athenae—I'll—

Jul.

What? my new Conjurer, what? Hoh, hoh!

Mat.

I lead ye about the Country, like a Bear by the Nose; make ye turn Spits, like a Dog in a Wheel: And if that won't do't▪ have ye

Chain'd, like a Flea, in a Box—And therefore, dispatch; and let me know, what sign, you'll give of your departure.

Jul.

Thunder, Thunder, Thunder, as thus, Rascal.

[She flies on him.

Mat.

I'll have ye bound over, for Bloodshed, and Battery.

Jnl.

I fear no Justice, under Heaven.

Mat.

I'll bring ye into th' Spiritual Court, and have ye Excommunicated.

Jul.

I am no Member of your Church: Or if I were, have no Mo∣ney, to pay Fees.

Mat.

I'll have ye burnt in Effigie, with Brimstone, Galbanum, Aristo∣lochia, Hypericon, and Rue; in a more terrible Cap, and painted Coat, than the Inquisition, yet ever thought of—And if all this fail; I'll send ye back, to your Wife.

Jul.

You told me so, once before; but now (I hope) you'll stay, 'till you catch me—Yet, I don't like the Rogue.

[Aside.

Mat.

Then I'll bring her to you.

[He throws up his Hat. Wind-Musick is heard, with a Shout, without

Jul.

What would this Peasant be at?—I have more than once, view'd all the Pomp of Heaven, nor am I ignorant, of what's most formidable in Hell: But what means this?—Prethee, Matheo, what is it?

Mat.

Are ye come to your Prethee, Sirrah?—Either march off ci∣villy, or know; that Will, or Nil, you shall—Alas poor Roderigo; your Wife's in chase of ye, and is just coming up stairs—Advance Impe∣ria!—

[The same Musick is heard. A Lady in a Veil enters, with shout∣ing. Julia springs at him, and falls, as dead. It thunders. All startle

Jul.

'Tis she, she'as found me out.

Mat.

Fear nothing; the Work is done—and now take care of the Lady.

Gri.

I'll see it done: And having made the Duke laugh, it shall be my next business, to see you gratify'd.

[Julia is carried off. Exeunt, all, but

Matheo.

Mat.

And if I get no more, 'tis no great matter—I have lin'd my self, pretty well, already: And now, all things consider'd, I think my self, happy enough, that I have 'scap'd Hanging, at last: And if in spight of my Stars, I set up for a Doctor, who can help it.

[Exit.