away thus?
What said he to my Letter?

_Scar_. What should he say?

_Ela_. Why, a hundred dear soft things of Love, kiss it as often, and
bless me for my Goodness.

_Scar_. Why, so he did.

_Ela_. Ask thee a thousand Questions of my Health after my last night's
fright.

_Scar_. So he did.

_Ela_. Expressing all the kind concern Love cou'd inspire, for the
Punishment my Father has inflicted on me, for entertaining him at my
Window last night.

_Scar_. All this he did.

_Ela_. And for my being confin'd a Prisoner to my Apartment, without the
hope or almost possibility of seeing him any more.

_Scar_. There I think you are a little mistaken; for besides the Plot
that I have laid to bring you together all this Night,--there are such
Stratagems a brewing, not only to bring you together, but with your
Father's consent too; such a Plot, Madam--

_Ela_. Ay, that would be worthy of thy Brain; prithee what?--

_Scar_. Such a Device--

_Ela_. I'm impatient.

_Scar_. Such a Conundrum,--Well, if there be wise Men and Conjurers in
the World, they are intriguing Lovers.

_Ela_. Out with it.

_Scar_. You must know, Madam, your Father (my Master, the Doctor) is a
little whimsical, romantick, or Don-Quicksottish, or so.

_Ela_. Or rather mad.

_Scar_. That were uncivil to be supposed by me; but lunatic we may call
him, without breaking the Decorum of good Manners; for he is always
travelling to the Moon.

_Ela_. And so religiously believes there is a World there, that he
Discourses as gravely of the People, their Government, Institutions,
Laws, Manners, Religion, and Constitution, as if he had been bred a
_Machiavel_ there.

_Scar_. How came he thus infected first?

_Ela_. With reading foolish Books, _Lucian's Dialogue of the Lofty
Traveller_, who flew up to the Moon, and thence to Heaven; an heroick
Business, call'd _The Man in the Moon_, if you'll believe a _Spaniard_,
who was carried thither, upon an Engine drawn by wild Geese; with
another Philosophical Piece, _A Discourse of the World in the Moon_;
with a thousand other ridiculous Volumes, too hard to name.

_Scar_. Ay, this reading of Books is a pernicious thing. I was like to
have run mad once, reading Sir _John Mandevil_;--but to the business,--I
went, as you know, to Don _Cinthio's_ Lodgings, where I found him with
his dear Friend _Charmante_, laying their Heads together for a Farce.

_Ela_. Farce!

_Scar_. Ay, a Farce, which shall be call'd,--_T