Enter Scaramouch in a Chair, which is set down and open’d on all sides, and on the top represents an Apothecary’s Shop, the Inside being painted with Shelves, and rows of Pots and Bottles; Scaramouch sitting in it dress’d in Black, with a short black Cloke, a Ruff, and little Hat.

Scar.  The Devil’s in’t, if either the Doctor, my Master, or Mopsophil, know me in this Disguise—­And thus I may not only gain my Mistress, and out-wit Harlequin, but deliver the Ladies those Letters from their Lovers, which I took out of his Pocket this Morning; and who wou’d suspect an Apothecary for a Pimp?—­Nor can the Jade Mopsophil, in Honour, refuse a Person of my Gravity, and so well set up.—­
          
                                      [Pointing to his Shop. 
—­Hum, the Doctor here first, this is not so well, but I’m prepar’d with Impudence for all Encounters.

    Enter the Doctor.  Scaramouch salutes him gravely.

—­Most Reverend Doctor Baliardo. [Bows.

Doct.  Seignior—­ [Bows.

Scar.  I might through great Pusillanimity, blush to give you this Anxiety, did not I opine you were as gracious as communicative and eminent; and though you have no Cognisance of me, your humble Servant,—­yet I have of you,—­you being so gravely fam’d for your admirable Skill both in Galenical and Paracelsian Phaenomena’s, and other approv’d Felicities in Vulnerary Emeticks, and purgative Experiences.

Doct.  Seignior,—­your Opinion honours me—­rare Man this.

Scar.  And though I am at present busied in writing—­those few Observations I have accumulated in my Peregrinations, Sir; yet the Ambition I aspir’d to, of being an ocular and aurial Witness of your Singularity, made me trespass on your sublimer Affairs.

Doct.  Seignior—­

Scar.—­Besides a violent Inclination, Sir, of being initiated into the Denomination of your learned Family, by the Conjugal Circumference of a Matrimonial Tye, with that singularly accomplish’d Person—­Madam, the Governante of your Hostel—­

Doct.  Hum—­A Sweet-heart for Mopsophil! [Aside.

Scar.  And if I may obtain your Condescension to my Hymenaeal Propositions, I doubt not my Operation with the Fair One.

Doct.  Seignior, she’s much honour’d in the Overture, and my Abilities shall not be wanting to fix the Concord.—­But have you been a Traveller, Sir?

Scar.  Without Circumlocutions, Sir, I have seen all the Regions beneath the Sun and Moon.

Doct.  Moon, Sir!  You never travell’d thither, Sir?

Scar.  Not in Propria Persona, Seignior, but by Speculation, I have, and made most considerable Remarks on that incomparable Terra Firma, of which I have the compleatest Map in Christendom—­and which Gonzales himself omitted in his Cosmographia of the Lunar Mundus.