 | A Duke and no Duke |  |
Enter Trappolin.
Trap.
This banisht life is very doleful—What an inhumane
Duke was this to banish me, that never banisht
him? At every step I take, my poor Flametta comes into my
mind: She met me at the Towns end, and would fain have
come along with me, but that I told her she was not banisht,
and might not.—Methinks this is a very melancholy place!
I have not met a living Body yet, but they had wings or four
legs. Let me bethink me where to betake my self, I would to
Rome, and turn Friar, but that I have too much Learning. A
man of my Occupation might once have finger'd the Polux
Ryals in Venice, but now the Gentry go a more compendious
way to work, and Pimp for one another; 'tquite spoils all
trading.
What sound is this? Sure this place must needs be haunted:
This with a good Dinner were something, but as it is, it feels
as if they were playing upon my small Guts.
So now, my airy Fidlers are fallen out amongst themselves; I
would come and banish me from this place too.
[Storm again, Mago the Conjurer rises.]
What's here? a decrepit old man? Now and I were sure he
was of mortal Race, I would set upon him in the name of Famine
—But if he should blow Brimstone in my Face there
were a hopeful beginner baulk't.
Mag.
Son, Thou art Banish'd—I know all the matter.
Trap.
'Tis true old Friend, I am banish'd—But how the
Devil came you to know it?
Mag.
Why, the Devil told me.
Trap.
The Devil he did?—Why 'twas e'en his own
doing, and so he could give you the best account of it.
Mag.
Be not dismay'd, Preferment waits upon thee,
I am so far from hurting thee,
That from poor Trappolin, I'le make thee a Prince.
Trap.
Look you there again, he knows my Name too.—
For certain, this must be the Devils kinsman—A Prince!
poor Trappolin thanks you Father Conjurer, but has no mind to
domineer in Hell: I know where your Territories lye.
Mag.
Besotted Wretch, Thou dost not understand me;
I tell thee Son, thou shalt return to Florence—
Trap.
And be hang'd there for my labour.
Mag.
Be honour'd there, exalted o're thy Fellows.
Trap.
On a Gibbet.
Mag.
There shalt thou shine in wealth, and roul in plenty,
The Treasures of the East shall Court thy wearing;
The haughty Nobles shall seem Pigmies to thee;
All Nature shall be ransack'd for thy Board,
And Art be tir'd to find thee choice of Banquets;
Each day and hour shall yield new Scenes of pleasure,
And crowding Beauties sue for thy Embraces.
Trap.
Sure I have pimp'd for this old Fellow formerly, he's
so kind—Well, as you say, Father Conjurer (on some private
Considerations that I have) this may not do amiss: But how
shall it be done?
Mag.
By Eo, Meo, and Areo.
Trap.
What they mean, I know not, but I am satisfi'd 'tis by
going to the Devil for it, and so much for that matter.
Here, Seat thee in this Chair.
Trap.
To be shav'd Father Conjurer by one of your black
Valets? I shall lather under their hands without a Ball.
Mag.
Sit still, and see the wonders of my Art;
Eo, Meo, and Areo, rise.
Trap.
What will become of this temporal Body of mine?—
I am glu'd to my Seat here.—But hear you good Father,
must this Retinue of yours needs appear?
Mag.
Of indispensible necessity.
Trap.
Then good Father let them appear invisibly, I have no
great inclination to their Company: For to tell you the truth,
I like yours none of the best, you are like the Devil enough to
serve my turn.
Mag.
Now by the most prevailing Spell
That e're amaz'd the Powers of Hell;
That mid-night Witches ever try'd,
While Cynthia did her Crescent hide;
While watchful Dogs to bark forbore,
The Wolf to holw, the Sea to roar;
While Robbin do's his midnight Chare,
And Plowmen sweat beneath the Mare;
By all the terrours of my Skill,
Ascend, ascend, and execute my Will.
[Lightning and Thunder, Spirits rise, and sink down with Trappolin.
Now proud Lavinio, little dost thou know
This secret practise of my just Revenge.
[After a Dance the Spirits rise again, with Trappolin dressed exactly like the Duke Lavinio.
Trap.
Oh Father what metal do you take me to be made of?
I am not us'd to travel under ground: Oh for a Dram of the
Bottle of a Quart or two! Call you this preferment? Marry he
deserves it that goes to the Devil for't, but I see no preferment
neither.
Mag.
Thou dost not know thy self, look in that Mirrour.
[Shews him a Looking-glass.]
Trap.
Whose there, the Duke?—Your Highness is well
return'd: Your faithful Servant Trappolin begs of your Grace to
call him home, and hang up this old Wizard; he'l Conjure
Dominions.—What's he gone again? He's for his frisque
under ground too. I have made way for him, I have work'd
like any Mole, and made holes you may thrust Churches
through.
Mag.
'Tis thou thy self that represents the Duke;
What in that Glass thou saw'st is but thy Picture.
Trap.
If that be my Picture I am the Picture of the Duke.
Mag.
And shalt be taken for the Duke himself.
Trap.
The Dress is just like him, and for ought I know, it is
Dress that makes a Duke.—Let me see, what must I say now?
my Highness is your Highness humble Servant.—This Conjurer
is a rare Fellow.
Mag.
As thou didst here seem to thy self,
So shalt thou to the world appear, the perfect Duke:
To Florence then, and take thy State upon thee.
Trap.
Trust me for Duking of it: I long to be at it. I know
not why every man should not be Duke in his turn.—Father
Conjurer, time is precious with us great Persons: However, I
should be glad to see you at Court. It may be the better for
you, for as I take it, we shall have some change of Ministers,
and so Farewel.
Mag.
Stay Son, Take this inchanted powder with thee,
Preserve it carefully, for at thy greatest need
'Twill give thee aid: When any Foe assaults,
Cast but this Magick Powder in his face,
And thou shalt see most wonderful effects.
Trap.
Good, Now I'm satisfi'd I am the Duke
Which some shall rue: Good Father, Fare you well.
Eo, Meo, and Areo—Pass.
[Exit. Conju. vanishes.
| A Duke and no Duke | |