who make ten visits in an afternoon; and entertain her they see, with speaking ill of the last, from whom they parted: In few words, she is one of the greatest coquettes in Madrid; and to shew she is one, she cannot speak ten words without some affected phrase that is in fashion.

Bel. For my part, I can suffer any impertinence from a woman, provided she be handsome: My business is with her beauty, not with her morals; let her confessor look to them.

Mask. I wonder what she has to say to you?

Bel. I know not; but I sweat for fear I should be gravelled.

Mask. Venture out of your depth, and plunge boldly, sir; I warrant you will swim.

Bel. Do not leave me, I charge you; but when I look mournfully upon you, help me out.

Enter AURELIA and CAMILLA.

Mask. Here they are already.

[AUR. plucks up her veil. Aur. How am I dressed to-night, Camilla? is no thing disordered in my head?

Cam. Not the least hair, madam.

Aur. No! let me see: Give me the counsellor of

the graces.

Cam. The counsellor of the graces, madam! Aur. My glass, I mean: What, will you never be so spiritual as to understand refined language? Cam. Madam!

Aur. Madam me no madam, but learn to retrench your words; and say ma'am; as, yes ma'am, and no ma'am, as other ladies' women do. Madam! 'tis a year in pronouncing.

Cam. Pardon me, madam.

Aur. Yet again, ignorance! Par-don, madam! fie, fie, what a superfluity is there, and how much sweet,

your la

er the cadence is-parn me, ma'am ! and for dyship, your la'ship.-Out upon't, what a furious indigence of ribbands is here upon my head! This dress is a libel to my beauty; a mere lampoon. Would any one, that had the least revenue of common sense, have done this?

Cam. Ma'am, the cavalier approaches your la'ship. Bel. to Mask. Maskall, pump the woman; and see if you can discover any thing to save my credit.

Aur. Out upon it! now I should speak, I want

assurance.

Bel. Madam, I was told you meant to honour me with your commands.

Aur. I believe, sir, you wonder at my confidence in this visit; but I may be excused for waving a little modesty, to know the only person of the age. Bel. I wish my skill were more, to serve you, madam.

Aur. Sir, you are an unfit judge of your own merits: For my own part, I confess, I have a furious inclination for the occult sciences; but at present, 'tis my misfortune[Sighs.

Bel. But why that sigh, madam?

Aur. You might spare me the shame of telling you; since I am sure you can divine my thoughts : I will, therefore, tell you nothing.

Bel. What the devil will become of me now!

[Aside. Aur. You may give me an essay of your science, by declaring to me the secret of my thoughts.

Bel. If I know your thoughts, madam, 'tis in vain for you to disguise them to me: Therefore, as you tender your own satisfaction, lay them open without bashfulness.

Aur. I beseech you let us pass over that chapter; for I am shame-faced to the last point. Since,

therefore, I cannot put off my modesty, succour it, and tell me what I think.

Bel. Madam, madam, that bashfulness must be laid aside: Not but that I know your business perfectly; and will, if you please, unfold it to you all immediately.

Aur. Favour me so far, I beseech you, sir; for I furiously desire it.

Bel. But then I must call up before you a most dreadful spirit, with head upon head, and horns upon horns: Therefore, consider how you can endure it.

Aur. This is furiously furious; but rather than fail of my expectances, I'll try my assurance.

Bel. Well then, I find you will force me to this unlawful, and abominable act of conjuration: Remember the sin is yours too.

Aur. I espouse the crime also.

Bel. I see, when a woman has a mind to't, she'll never boggle at a sin. Pox on her, what shall I do? [Aside.]-Well, I'll tell you your thoughts, madam; but after that expect no farther service from me; for 'tis your confidence must make my art successful.- -Well, you are obstinate, then; I must tell you your thoughts?

Aur. Hold, hold, sir; I am content to pass over that chapter, rather than be deprived of your assist

ance.

Bel. 'Tis very well; what need these circumstances between us two? Confess freely; is not love your business?

Aur. You have touched me to the quick, sir. Bel. Look you there! you see I knew it; nay, I'll tell you more, 'tis a man you love.

Aur. O prodigious science! I confess I love. á man most furiously, to the last point, sir.

Bel. Now proceed, lady, your way is open; resolved, I'll not tell you a word farther.

I am

Aur. Well then, since I must acquaint you with what you know much better than myself, I will tell you. I loved a cavalier, who was noble, young, and handsome; this gentleman is since gone for Flanders; now whether he has preserved his passion inviolate, or not, is that which causes my inquietude. Bel. Trouble not yourself, madam; he's as constant as a romance hero.

Aur. Sir, your good news has ravished me most furiously; but that I may have a confirmation of it, I beg only, that you would lay your commands upon his genius, or idea, to appear to me this night, that I may have my sentence from his mouth. This, sir, I know is a slight effect of your science, and yet will infinitely oblige me.

Bel. What the devil does she call a slight effect! [Aside.]—Why, lady, do you consider what you say? you desire me to shew you a man, whom yourself confess to be in Flanders.

Aur. To view him in a glass is nothing; I would speak with him in person, I mean his idea, sir.

Bel. Ay, but, madam, there is a vast sea betwixt us and Flanders; and water is an enemy to conjuration. A witch's horse, you know, when he enters into water, returns into a bottle of hay again.

Aur. But, sir, I am not so ill a geographer, or, to speak more properly, a chorographer, as not to know there is a passage by land from hence to Flanders.

Bel. That's true, madam; but magic works in a direct line. Why should you think the devil such an ass to go about? 'Gad, he'll not stir a step out of his road for you, or any man.

Aur. Yes, for a lady, sir; I hope he's a person

that wants not that civility for a lady; especially a spirit that has the honour to belong to you, sir.

Bel. For that matter, he's your servant, madam; but his education has been in the fire, and he's naturally an enemy to water, I assure you.

Aur. I beg his pardon, for forgetting his antipathy; but it imports not much, sir; for I have lately received a letter from my servant, that he is yet in Spain, and stays for a wind in St Sebastian's.

Bel. Now I am lost, past all redemption.-Maskall, must you be smickering after wenches, while I am in calamity?

[Aside. Mask. It must be he, I'll venture on't. [Aside.] Alas, sir, I was complaining to myself of the condition of poor Don Melchor, who, you know, is windbound at St Sebastian's.

Bel. Why, you impudent villain, must you offer to name him publicly, when I have taken so much care to conceal him all this while?

Aur. Mitigate your displeasure, I beseech you; and, without making farther testimony of it, gratify my expectances.

Bel. Well, madam, since the sea hinders not, you shall have your desire. Look upon me with a fixed eye- -SO- or a little more amorously, if you pleasegood. Now favour me with your hand. Aur. Is it absolutely necessary you should press my hand thus?

Bel. Furiously necessary, I assure you, madam; for now I take possession of it in the name of the idea of Don Melchor. Now, madam, I am farther to desire of you, to write a note to his genius, wherein you desire him to appear, and this we men of art call a compact with the ideas.

Aur. I tremble furiously.

Bel. Give me your hand, I'll guide it. [They write.