[Aside to _him_.
_Scar_. Let me alone.
_Doct_. I'll warrant you some Rogue that has some Plot on my Niece and Daughter.
_Scar_. No, no, Sir, he comes to impose the grossest Lye upon you, that ever was heard of.
_Enter_ Pedro _with others, with a Blanket. They put_ Harlequin _into it, and toss him_.
_Har_. Hold, hold, I'll confess all, rather than indure it.
_Doct_. Hold, what will you confess, Sir.
[_He comes out, makes sick Faces_.
_Scar_.--That he's the greatest Impostor in Nature. Wou'd you think it, Sir? he pretends to be no less than an Ambassador from the Emperor of the Moon, Sir.
_Doct_. Ha, Ambassador from the Emperor of the Moon!
[_Pulls off his Hat_.
_Scar_. Ay, Sir, thereupon I laugh'd, thereupon he grew angry--I laugh'd at his Resentment, and thereupon we drew, and this was the high Quarrel, Sir.
_Doct_. Hum--Ambassador from the Moon. [_Pauses_.
_Scar_. I have brought you off, manage him as well as you can.
_Har_. Brought me off, yes, out of the Frying-pan into the Fire.
Why, how the Devil shall I act an Ambassador? [_Aside_.
_Doct_. It must be so, for how shou'd either of these know I expected that Honour?
[_He addresses him with profound Civility to_ Har.
Sir, if the Figure you make, approaching so near ours of this World, have made us commit any undecent Indignity to your high Character, you ought to pardon the Frailty of our mortal Education and Ignorance, having never before been bless'd with the Descension of any from your World.
_Har_. What the Devil shall I say now? [_Aside_.
--I confess I am, as you may see by my Garb, Sir, a little _Incognito_, because the publick Message I bring is very private--which is, that the mighty _Iredonozor_, Emperor of the Moon, with his most worthy Brother, the Prince of _Thunderland_, intend to sup with you to Night.--Therefore be sure you get good Wine.--Though by the way let me tell you, 'tis for the sake of your fair Daughter.
_Scar_. I'll leave the Rogue to his own Management. I presume, by your whispering, Sir, you wou'd be private, and humbly begging pardon, take my leave.
[_Exit_.
_Har_. You have it, Friend. Does your Niece and Daughter drink, Sir?
_Doct_. Drink, Sir?
_Har_. Ay, Sir, drink hard?
_Doct_. Do the Women of your World drink hard, Sir?
_Har_. According to their Quality, Sir, more or less; the greater the Quality, the more profuse the Quantity.
_Doct_. Why, that's just as 'tis here; but your Men of Quality, your Statesmen, Sir, I presume they are sober, learned, and wise.
_Har_. Faith, no, Sir; but they are, for the most part, what's as good, very proud and promising, Sir, most liberal of their Word to every fauning Suiter, to purchase the state of long Attendance, and cringing as they pass; but the Devil of a Performance, without you get the Knack of bribing in the right Place and Time; but yet they all defy it, Sir.
_Doct_. Just, just, as 'tis here.--But pray, Sir, how do these Great men live with their Wives?
_Har_. Most nobly, Sir, my Lord keeps his Coach, my Lady hers; my Lord his Bed, my Lady hers; and very rarely see one another, unless they chance to meet in a Visit, in the _Park_, the _Mall_, the _Tour_, or at the _Basset-Table_, where they civilly salute and part, he to his Mistress, she to play.
_Doct_. Good lack! just as 'tis here.
_Har_.--Where, if she chance to lose her Money, rather than give out, she borrows of the next amorous Coxcomb, who, from that Minute, hopes, and is sure to be paid again one way or other, the next kind Opportunity.
_Doct_.--Just as 'tis here.
_Har_. As for the young Fellows that have Money, they have no Mercy upon their own Persons, but wearing Nature off as fast as they can, Swear, and Whore and Drink, and borrow as long as any Rooking Citizen will lend till, having dearly purchased the heroick Title of a Bully or a Sharper, they live pity'd of their Friends, and despis'd by their Whores, and depart this Transitory World, diverse and sundry ways.
_Doct_. Just, just as 'tis here!
_Har_. As for the Citizen, Sir, the Courtier lies with his Wife; he in revenge, cheats him of his Estate, till rich enough to marry his Daughter to a Courtier, again gives him all--unless his Wife's over-gallantry breaks him; and thus the World runs round.
_Doct_. The very same 'tis here--Is there no preferment, Sir, for Men of Parts and Merit?
_Har_. Parts and Merit! what's that? a Livery, or the handsome tying a Cravat; for the great Men prefer none but their Foot-men and Valets.
_Doct_. By my Troth, just as 'tis here.--Sir, I find you are a Person of most profound Intelligence--under Favour, Sir, are you a Native of the Moon, or this World?
_Har_. The Devil's in him for hard Questions.
--I am a _Neapolitan_, Sir?
_Doct_. Sir, I Honour you; good luck, my Countryman! How got you to the Region of the Moon, Sir?
_Har_. A plaguy inquisitive old Fool!
--Why, Sir, --Pox on't, what shall I say?
--I being--one day in a musing Melancholy, walking by the Sea-side-- there arose, Sir, a great Mist, by the Sun's exhaling of the Vapours of the Earth, Sir.
_Doct_. Right, Sir.
_Har_. In this Fog, or Mist, Sir, I was exhal'd.
_Doct_. The Exhalations of the Sun draw you to the Moon, Sir?
_Har_. I am condemn'd to the Blanket again.
--I say, Sir, I was exhal'd up, but in my way--being too heavy, was drop'd into the Sea.
_Doct_. How, Sir, into the Sea?
_Har_. The Sea, Sir, where the Emperor's Fisherman casting his Nets, drew me up, and took me for a strange and monstrous Fish, Sir,--and as such, presented me to his Mightiness,--who going to have me Spitchcock'd for his own eating--
_Doct_. How, Sir, eating?