Giant. What if I have?
Feth. Why then, Madam, without inchanted Sword or Buckler, I’m your Man.
Giant. My Man? my Mouse. I’ll marry none whose Person and Courage shall not bear some Proportion to mine.
Feth. Your Mightiness I fear will die a Maid then.
Giant. I doubt you’ll scarce secure me from that Fear, who court my Fortune, not my Beauty.
Feth. [Hu, how scornful] she is, I’ll warrant you—why I must confess, your Person is something heroical and masculine, but I protest to your Highness, I love and honour ye.
Dwarf. Prithee, Sister, be not so coy, I like my Lover well enough; and if Seignior Mountebank keep his Word in making us of reasonable Proportions, I think the Gentlemen may serve for Husbands.
Shift. Dissemble, or you betray your Love for us. [Aside to the Giant.
Giant. And if he do keep his Word, I should make a better Choice, not that I would change this noble Frame of mine, cou’d I but meet my Match, and keep up the first Race of Man intire: But since this scanty World affords none such, I to be happy, must be new created, and then shall expect a wiser Lover.
Feth. Why, what a peevish Titt’s this; nay, look ye, Madam, as for that matter, your Extraordinariness may do what you please—but ’tis not done like a Monster of Honour, when a Man has set his Heart upon you, to cast him off—Therefore I hope you’ll pity a despairing Lover, and cast down an Eye of Consolation upon me; for I vow, most Amazonian Princess, I love ye as if Heaven and Earth wou’d come together.