ness, made me
insensible of my Evil.

_Cart._ But I'm afraid your Wife won't know you again.

_Sol._ Why so?

_Cart._ Because your Scars have made you the Picture of quite another
Man. What a Trench have you got here in your Forehead? It looks as if
you had had a Horn cut out.

_Sol._ Nay, if you did but know the Matter, you would congratulate me
upon this Scar.

_Cart._ Why so?

_Sol._ I was within a Hair's Breadth of losing my Life.

_Cart._ Why, what Mischief was there?

_Sol._ As one was drawing a Steel Cross-bow, it broke, and a Splinter of
it hit me in the Forehead.

_Cart._ You have got a Scar upon your Cheek that is above a Span long.

_Sol._ I got this Wound in a Battel.

_Cart._ In what Battel, in the Field?

_Sol._ No, but in a Quarrel that arose at Dice.

_Cart._ And I see I can't tell what Sort of Rubies on your Chin.

_Sol._ O they are nothing.

_Cart._ I suspect that you have had the Pox.

_Sol._ You guess very right, Brother. It was the third Time I had that
Distemper, and it had like to have cost me my Life.

_Cart._ But how came it, that you walk so stooping, as if you were
ninety Years of Age; or like a Mower, or as if your Back was broke?

_Sol._ The Disease has contracted my Nerves to that Degree.

_Cart._ In Truth you have undergone a wonderful Metamorphosis: Formerly
you were a Horseman, and now of a Centaur, you are become a Kind of
semi-reptile Animal.

_Sol._ This is the Fortune of War.

_Cart._ Nay, 'tis the Madness of your own Mind. But what Spoils will you
carry Home to your Wife and Children? The Leprosy? for that Scab is only
a Species of the Leprosy; and it is only not accounted so, because it
is the Disease in Fashion, and especially among Noblemen: And for this
very Reason, it should be the more carefully avoided. And now you will
infect with it those that ought to be the dearest to you of any in the
World, and you yourself will all your Days carry about a rotten Carcass.

_Sol._ Prithee, Brother, have done chiding me. I have enough upon me
without Chiding.

_Cart._ As to those Calamities, I have hitherto taken Notice of, they
only relate to the Body: But what a Sort of a Soul do you bring back
with you? How putrid and ulcered? With how many Wounds is that sore?

_Sol._ Just as clean as a _Paris_ common Shore in _Maburtus_'s Road, or
a common House of Office.

_Cart._ I am afraid it stinks worse in the Nostrils of God and his
Angels.

_Sol._ Well, but