Lab. Sir, the Novelty is not so great, I assure you.
Fal. Go to, y’are wicked; But I will have them in my Face.
Lab. With all my heart, Sir, but how?
Fal. I’ll wear a patch or two there, and I’ll Warrant you for pretending as much as any man; And who, you Fool, shall know the fallacy?
Lab. That, Sir, will all that know you, both in the Court and Camp.
Fal. Mark me, Labree, once for all; if thou takest
Delight continually thus to put me in mind of
My want of Courage, I shall undoubtedly
Fall foul on thee, and give thee most fatal proofs
Of more than thou expectest.
Lab. Nay, Sir, I have done, and do believe ‘tis only I dare say you are a man of Prowess.
Fal. Leave thy simple fancies, and go about thy business.
Lab. I am gone; but hark, my Lord, If I should say your Face were wounded, The Ladies would fear you had lost your Beauty.
Fal. O, never trouble your head for that, Aminta Is a Wit, and your Wits care not how ill-favour’d Their Men be, the more ugly the better.