Har. The Ghost of a poor Lover, dwindled into a Heyho.
[He rises from under the Table, and falls at her Feet.
Scaramouch enters. She runs off squeaking.
Scar. Ha, My Rival and my Mistress!—Is this done like a Man of Honour, Monsieur Harlequin, to take advantages to injure me? [Draws.
Har. Advantages are lawful in Love and War.
Scar. ‘Twas contrary to our League and Covenant; therefore I defy thee as a Traytor.
Har. I scorn to fight with thee, because I once call’d thee Brother.
Scar. Then thou art a Poltroon, that’s to say, a Coward.
Har. Coward! nay, then I am provok’d, come on.
Scar. Pardon me, Sir, I gave the Coward, and you ought to strike.
[They go to fight ridiculously, and ever as Scaramouch passes, Harlequin leaps aside, and skips so nimbly about, he cannot touch him for his Life; which after a while endeavouring in vain, he lays down his Sword.