Sol. Good Morrow, my Brother.

Cart. Good Morrow to you, dear Cousin.

Sol. I scarce knew you.

Cart. Am I grown so old in two Years Time?

Sol. No; but your bald Crown, and your new Dress, make you look to me like another Sort of Creature.

Cart. It may be you would not know your own Wife, if she should meet you in a new Gown.

Sol. No; not if she was in such a one as yours.

Cart. But I know you very well, who are not altered as to your Dress; but your Face, and the whole Habit of your Body:  Why, how many Colours are you painted with?  No Bird had ever such a Variety of Feathers.  How all is cut and slash’d!  Nothing according to Nature or Fashion! your cut Hair, your half-shav’d Beard, and that Wood upon your upper Lip, entangled and standing out straggling like the Whiskers of a Cat.  Nor is it one single Scar that has disfigured your Face, that you may very well be taken for one of the Samian literati, [q.d. burnt in the Cheek] concerning whom there is a joking Proverb.

Sol. Thus it becomes a Man to come back from the Wars.  But, pray, tell me, was there so great a Scarcity of good Physicians in this Quarter of the World?

Cart. Why do you ask?

Sol. Because you did not get the Distemper of your Brain cur’d, before you plung’d yourself into this Slavery.

Cart. Why, do you think I was mad then?

Sol. Yes, I do.  What Occasion was there for you to be buried here, before your Time, when you had enough in the World to have lived handsomely upon?

Cart. What, don’t you think I live in the World now?

Sol. No, by Jove.

Cart. Tell me why.

Sol. Because you can’t go where you list.  You are confin’d in this Place as in a Coop.  Besides, your bald Pate, and your prodigious strange Dress, your Lonesomeness, your eating Fish perpetually, so that I admire you are not turn’d into a Fish.

Cart. If Men were turn’d into what they eat, you had long ago been turn’d into a Hog, for you us’d to be a mighty Lover of Pork.

Sol. I don’t doubt but you have repented of what you have done, long enough before now, for I find very few that don’t repent of it.

Cart. This usually happens to those who plunge themselves headlong into this Kind of Life, as if they threw themselves into a Well; but I have enter’d into it warily and considerately, having first made Trial of myself, and having duly examined the whole Ratio of this Way of Living, being twenty-eight Years of Age, at which Time, every one may be suppos’d to know himself.  And as for the Place, you are confined in a small Compass as well as I, if you compare it to the Extent of the whole World.  Nor does it signify any Thing how large the Place is, as long