Doct. Set down the Telescope.—Let me see, what Hour is it?
Scar. About six a Clock, Sir.
Doct. Then ‘tis about the Hour that the great Monarch of the Upper World enters into his Closet; Mount, mount the Telescope.
Scar. What to do, Sir?
Doct. I understand, at certain moments critical, one may be snatch’d of such a mighty consequence, to let the Sight into the Secret Closet.
Scar. How, Sir, peep into the King’s Closet! under favour, Sir, that will be something uncivil.
Doct. Uncivil! it were flat Treason if it should be known; but thus unseen, and as wise Politicians shou’d, I take survey of all: This is the Statesman’s Peeping-hole, thorow which he steals the Secrets of his King, and seems to wink at distance.
Scar. The very Key-hole, Sir, thorow which, with half an Eye, he sees him even at his Devotion, Sir.
[A knocking at the Garden-gate.
Doct. Take care none enter.