_Mop_. A City Apothecary, a most genteel Calling--Which shall I chuse?
--Seignior Apothecary, I'll not expostulate the circumstantial Reasons that have occasion'd me this Honour.
_Scar_. Incomparable Lady, the Elegancy of your Repartees most excellently denotes the Profundity of your Capacity.
_Har_. What the Devil's all this? Good Mr. Conjurer, stand by--and don't fright the Gentlewoman with your elegant Profundities. [_Puts him by_.
_Scar_. How, a Conjurer! I will chastise thy vulgar Ignorance, that yclepes a Philosopher a Conjurer. [_In Rage_.
_Har_. Losaphers!--Prithee, if thou be'st a Man, speak like a Man--then.
_Scar_. Why, what do I speak like? what do I speak like?
_Har_. What do you speak like!--why you speak like a Wheel-Barrow.
_Scar_. How!
_Har_. And how.
[_They come up close together at half Sword Parry; stare on each other for a while, then put up and bow to each other civilly_.
_Mop_. That's well, Gentlemen, let's have all Peace, while I survey you both, and see which likes me best.
[_She goes between 'em, and surveys 'em both, they making ridiculous bows on both sides, and Grimaces the while_.
--Ha, now on my Conscience, my two foolish Lovers, _Harlequin_ and _Scaramouch_; how are my Hopes defeated?--but, faith, I'll fit you both.
[_She views 'em both_.
_Scar_. So she's considering still, I shall be the happy Dog. [_Aside_.
_Har_. She's taking aim, she cannot chuse but like me best. [_Aside_.
_Scar_. Well, Madam, how does my Person propagate?
[_Bowing and smiling_.
_Mop_. Faith, Seignior, now I look better on you, I do not like your Phisnomy so well as your Intellects; you discovering some circumstantial Symptoms that ever denote a villanous Inconstancy.
_Scar_. Ah, are you pleas'd, Madam.
_Mop_. 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, 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.