_. You are mistaken, Seignior. I am displeas'd at your Grey-Eyes,
and black Eye-brows, and Beard; I never knew a Man with those Signs,
true to his Mistress or his Friend. And I wou'd sooner wed that
Scoundrel _Scaramouch_, that very civil Pimp, that mere pair of chymical
Bellows that blow the Doctor's projecting Fires, that Deputy-urinal
Shaker, that very Guzman of _Salamanca_. than a Fellow of your
infallible _Signum Mallis_.

_Har_. Ha, ha, ha, you have your Answer, Seignior Friskin--and may shut
up your Shop and be gone.--Ha, ha, ha.

_Scar_. Hum, sure the Jade knows me. [_Aside_.

_Mop_. And as for you, Seignior--

_Har_. Ha, Madam. [_Bowing and smiling_.

_Mop_. Those Lanthorn Jaws of yours, with that most villanous Sneer and
Grin, and a certain fierce Air of your Eyes, looks altogether most
fanatically--which with your notorious Whey Beard, are certain Signs of
Knavery and Cowardice; therefore I'ad rather wed that Spider _Harlequin_,
that Sceleton Buffoon, that Ape of Man, that Jack of Lent, that very Top,
that's of no use, but when 'tis whip'd and lash'd, that piteous Property
I'ad rather wed than thee.

_Har_. A very fair Declaration.

_Mop_. You understand me--and so adieu, sweet Glisterpipe, and Seignior
Dirty-Boots, Ha, ha, ha.
[_Runs out_.

[_They stand looking simply on each other, without speaking a while_.

_Scar_. That I shou'd not know that Rogue _Harlequin_. [_Aside_.

_Har_. That I shou'd take this Fool for a Physician. [_Aside_.
--How long have you commenc'd Apothecary, Seignior?

_Scar_. Ever since you turn'd Farmer.--Are not you a damn'd Rogue to
put these Tricks upon me, and most dishonourably break all Articles
between us?

_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,