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.