Giant. Well, Seigniors, since you come with our Uncle’s liking, we give ye leave to hope, hope—and be happy— [They go out [with Harlequin].
Feth. Egad, and that’s great and gracious—
Enter Willmore and an Operator.
Will. Well, Gentlemen, and how like you the Ladies?
Blunt. Faith, well enough for the first Course, Sir.
Will. The Uncle, by my indeavour, is intirely yours—but whilst the Baths are preparing,’twould be well if you would think of what Age, Shape, and Complexion you would have your Ladies form’d in.
Feth. Why, may we chuse, Mr. Doctor?
Will. What Beauties you please.
Feth. Then will I have my Giant, Ned, just such another Gentlewoman as I saw at Church to day—and about some fifteen.
Blunt. Hum, fifteen—I begin to have a plaguy Itch about me too, towards a handsome Damsel of fifteen; but first let’s marry, lest they should be boiled away in these Baths of Reformation.