Pet. Ah, Signior, where the Ladies are privileg’d and Fornication licensed.
Tick. Right! and when ‘tis licens’d, ‘tis lawful; and when ‘tis lawful, it can be no Sin: besides, Barberacho, I may chance to turn her, who knows?
Pet. Turn her, Signior, alas, any way, which way you please.
Tick. He, he, he! There thou wert knavish, I doubt—but I mean convert her—nothing else I profess, Barberacho.
Pet. True, Signior, true, she’s a Lady of an easy nature, and an indifferent Argument well handled will do’t—ha—here’s your head of Hair—here’s your natural [combing out his Hair.] Frize! And such an Air it gives the Face!—So, Signior—Now you have the utmost my Art can do. [Takes away the Cloth, and bows.
Tick. Well, Signior,—and where’s your Looking-glass?
Pet. My Looking-glass!
Tick. Yes, Signior, your Looking-glass! an English Barber wou’d as soon have forgotten to have snapt his fingers, made his leg, or taken his Money, as have neglected his Looking-glass.
Pet. Ay, Signior, in your Country the Laity have so little Honesty, they are not to be trusted with the taking off your Beard unless you see’t done:—but here’s a Glass, Sir. [Gives him the Glass.
[Tick. sets himself and smirks in the Glass, Pet. standing behind him, making horns and grimaces, which Tick. sees in the Glass, gravely rises, turns towards Petro.