_Har_. And are not you a dam’d Son of a--something--to break Articles with me? _Scar_. No more Words, Sir, no more Words, I find it must come to Actions, draw. [_Draws_. _Har_. Draw!--so I can draw, Sir. [_Draws_. [_They make a ridiculous cowardly Fight. Enter the Doctor, which they seeing, come on with more Courage. He runs between, and with his Cane beats the Swords down_. _Doct_. Hold, hold, what mean you, Gentlemen? _Scar_. Let me go, Sir, I am provok’d beyond measure, Sir. _Doct_. You must excuse me, Seignior. [_Parlies with Harlequin_. _Scar_. I dare not discover the Fool for his Master’s sake, and it may spoil our Intrigue anon; besides, he’ll then discover me, and I shall be discarded for bantering the Doctor. [_Aside_. --Man of Honour to be so basely affronted here. [_The_ Doctor _comes to appease_ Scaramouch. _Har_. Shou’d I discover this Rascal, he wou’d tell the old Gentleman I was the same that attempted his House to day in Woman’s Clothes, and I should be kick’d and beaten most insatiably. _Scar_. What, Seignior, for a Man of Parts to be impos’d upon, and whip’d through the Lungs here--like a Mountebank’s Zany for sham Cures --Mr. Doctor, I must tell you ‘tis not civil. _Doct_. I am extremely sorry for it, Sir,--and you shall see how I will have this fellow handled for the Affront to a Person of your Gravity, and in my House.--Here, _Pedro_. _Enter_ Pedro. --Take this Intruder, or bring some of your Fellows hither, and toss him in a Blanket. [_Exit_ Pedro. [Har. _going to creep away_, Scar, _holds him_. _Har_. Hark ye, bring me off, or I’ll discover all your Intrigue. [Aside to _him_. _Scar_. Let me alone. _Doct_. I’ll warrant you some Rogue that has some Plot on my Niece and Daughter. _Scar_. No, no, Sir, he comes to impose the grossest Lye upon you, that ever was heard of. _Enter_ Pedro _with others, with a Blanket. They put_ Harlequin _into it, and toss him_. _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_.