Cin. Men call me Gog Magog, the Spirit of Power;
My Right-hand Riches holds, my Left-hand Honour.
Is there a City Wife wou’d be a Lady?—Bring her to me,
Her easy Cuckold shall be dubb’d a Knight.
Ela. Oh Heavens! a Mad-man, Sir.
Cin. Is there a tawdry Fop wou’d have a Title? A rich Mechanick that wou’d be an Alderman? Bring ‘em to me, And I’ll convert that Coxcomb, and that Blockhead, into Your Honour and Right-Worshipful.
Doct. Mad, stark mad! Why, Sirrah, Rogue—Scaramouch —How got this Mad-man in?
[While the Doctor turns to Scaramouch, Cinthio
speaks softly to Elaria.
Cin. Oh, thou perfidious Maid! Who hast thou hid in yonder conscious Closet? [Aside to her.
Scar. Why, Sir, he was brought in a Chair for your Advice; but how he rambled from the Parlour to this Chamber, I know not.
Cin. Upon a winged Horse, ycleped Pegasus, Swift as the fiery Racers of the Sun,—I fly—I fly—See how I mount, and cut the liquid Sky. [Runs out.
Doct. Alas, poor Gentleman, he’s past all Cure.—But, Sirrah, for the future, take you care that no young mad Patients be brought into my House.
Scar. I shall, Sir,—and see,—here’s your Key you look’d for.