_Har_. As for the Citizen, Sir, the Courtier lies with his Wife; he in revenge, cheats him of his Estate, till rich enough to marry his Daughter to a Courtier, again gives him all--unless his Wife’s over-gallantry breaks him; and thus the World runs round. _Doct_. The very same ‘tis here--Is there no preferment, Sir, for Men of Parts and Merit? _Har_. Parts and Merit! what’s that? a Livery, or the handsome tying a Cravat; for the great Men prefer none but their Foot-men and Valets. _Doct_. By my Troth, just as ‘tis here.--Sir, I find you are a Person of most profound Intelligence--under Favour, Sir, are you a Native of the Moon, or this World? _Har_. The Devil’s in him for hard Questions. --I am a _Neapolitan_, Sir? _Doct_. Sir, I Honour you; good luck, my Countryman! How got you to the Region of the Moon, Sir? _Har_. A plaguy inquisitive old Fool! --Why, Sir, --Pox on’t, what shall I say? --I being--one day in a musing Melancholy, walking by the Sea-side-- there arose, Sir, a great Mist, by the Sun’s exhaling of the Vapours of the Earth, Sir. _Doct_. Right, Sir. _Har_. In this Fog, or Mist, Sir, I was exhal’d. _Doct_. The Exhalations of the Sun draw you to the Moon, Sir? _Har_. I am condemn’d to the Blanket again. --I say, Sir, I was exhal’d up, but in my way--being too heavy, was drop’d into the Sea. _Doct_. How, Sir, into the Sea? _Har_. The Sea, Sir, where the Emperor’s Fisherman casting his Nets, drew me up, and took me for a strange and monstrous Fish, Sir,--and as such, presented me to his Mightiness,--who going to have me Spitchcock’d for his own eating-- _Doct_. How, Sir, eating? _Har_. What did me I, Sir (Life being sweet) but fall on my Knees, and besought his Gloriousness not to eat me, for I was no Fish, but a Man; he ask’d me of what Country, I told him of _Naples_; whereupon the Emperor overjoy’d ask’d me if I knew that most reverend and learned Doctor _Baliardo_, and his fair Daughter. I told him I did: whereupon he made me his Bed-fellow, and the Confident to his Amour to Seigniora _Elaria_. _Doct_. Bless me, Sir! how came the Emperor to know my Daughter? _Har_. There he is again with his damn’d hard Questions. --Know her, Sir,--Why--you were walking abroad one day. _Doct_. My Daughter never goes abroad, Sir, farther than our Garden. _Har_. Ay, there it was indeed, Sir,--and as his Highness was taking a Survey of this lower World--through a long Perspective, Sir,--he saw you and your Daughter and Neice, and from that very moment fell most desperately in love.--But hark, the sound of Timbrels, Kettle-Drums and Trumpets.--The Emperor, Sir, is on his way, prepare for his Reception. [_A strange Noise is heard of Brass Kettles, and Pans, and Bells, and many tinkling things_. _Doct_. I’m in a Rapture--How shall I pay my Gratitude for this great Negotiation?--but as I may, I humbly offer, Sir. [_Presents him with a rich Ring and a Purse of Gold_.