_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,--_The World in the Moon_: Wherein your Father shall be so impos’d on, as shall bring matters most magnificently about. _Ela_. I cannot conceive thee, but the Design must be good, since _Cinthio_ and _Charmante_ own it. _Scar_. In order to this, _Charmante_ is dressing himself like one of the Caballists of the _Rosycrusian_ Order, and is coming to prepare my credulous Master for the greater Imposition. I have his Trinkets here to play upon him, which shall be ready. _Ela_. But the Farce, where is it to be acted? _Scar_. Here, here, in this very House; I am to order the Decorations, adorn a Stage, and place Scenes proper. _Ela_. How can this be done without my Father’s Knowledge? _Scar_. You know the old Apartment next the great Orchard, and the Worm-eaten Gallery that opens to the River; which place for several Years no body has frequented; there all things shall be acted proper for our purpose. _Enter_ Mopsophil _running_. _Mop_. Run, run, _Scaramouch_, my Master’s conjuring for you like mad below, he calls up all his little Devils with horrid Names, his Microscope, his Horoscope, his Telescope, and all his Scopes. _Scar_. Here, here,--I had almost forgot the Letters; here’s one for you, and one for Mrs. _Bellemante_. [_Runs out_. _Enter_ Bellemante _with a Book_. _Bell_. Here, take my Prayer-Book, _Oh Ma tres chère_. [_Embraces her_. _Ela_. Thy Eyes are always laughing, _Bellemante_. _Bell_. And so would yours, had they been so well employ’d as mine, this morning. I have been at the Chapel, and seen so many Beaus, such a number of Plumeys, I cou’d not tell which I should look on most; sometimes my Heart was charm’d with the gay Blonding, then with the melancholy Noire, anon the amiable Brunet; sometimes the bashful, then again the bold; the little now, anon the lovely tall: In fine, my Dear, I was embarass’d on all sides, I did nothing but deal my Heart _tout autour_. _Ela_. Oh, there was then no danger, Cousin. _Bell_. No, but abundance of pleasure. _Ela_. Why, this is better than sighing for _Charmante_.