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.