Kep. Be patient, Sir, and call up all your Virtue,
You’re only cur’d, Sir, of a Disease
That long has reign’d over your nobler Faculties.
Sir, I am your Physician, Friend and Counsellor;
It was not in the Power of Herbs or Minerals,
Of Reason, common Sense, and right Religion,
To draw you from an Error that unmann’d you.
Doct. I will be patient, Gentlemen, and hear you. —Are not you Ferdinand?
Kep. I am,—and these are Gentlemen of Quality, That long have lov’d your Daughter and your Niece; Don Cinthio this, and this is Don Charmante, The Vice-Roy’s Nephews both. Who found as Men—’twas impossible to enjoy ‘em, And therefore try’d this Stratagem.
Cin. Sir, I beseech you, mitigate your Grief, Although indeed we are but mortal Men, Yet we shall love you, serve you, and obey you.
Doct. Are not you then the Emperor of the Moon? And you the Prince of Thunderland?
Cin. There’s no such Person, Sir.
These Stories are the Fantoms of mad Brains,
To puzzle Fools withal—the Wise laugh at ‘em—
Come, Sir, you shall no longer be impos’d upon.
Doct. No Emperor of the Moon, and no Moon World!
Char. Ridiculous Inventions.
If we ‘ad not lov’d you you’ad been still impos’d on;
You had brought a Scandal on your learned Name,
And all succeeding Ages had despis’d it.
[Doct. leaps up.
Doct. Burn all my Books and let my study blaze, Burn all to Ashes, and be sure the Wind Scatter the vile contagious monstrous Lyes. —Most Noble Youths—you’ve honour’d me with your Alliance, and you, and all your Friends, Assistances in this glorious Miracle, I invite to Night to revel with me.—Come all and see my happy Recantation of all the Follies, Fables have inspir’d till now. Be pleasant to repeat your Story, to tell me by what kind degrees you cozen’d me. I see there’s nothing in Philosophy— [Gravely to himself. Of all that writ, he was the wisest Bard, who spoke this mighty Truth—