Mop. Was that a Countess or a Dutchess?
Har. Ay, certainly—for they have all the Money; and then for Clothes, Jewels, and rich Furniture, and eating, they out-do the very Vice-Reine her self.
Doct. This is a very ignorant running Baud,—therefore first search her for Billets-Doux, and then have her pump’d.
Har. Ah, Seignior,—Seignior.
[Scar. searches him, finds Letters.
Scar. Ha, to Elaria—and Bellemante! [Reads the Outside, pops ‘em into his Bosom. These are from their Lovers.—Ha, a Note to Mopsophil.—Oh, Rogue! have I found you?
Har. If you have, ‘tis but Trick for your Trick, Seignior Scaramouch, and you may spare the Pumping.
Scar. For once, Sirrah, I’ll bring you off, and deliver your Letters. —Sir, do you not know who this is? Why, ‘tis a Rival of mine, who put on this Disguise to cheat me of Mistress Mopsophil.—See, here’s a Billet to her.
Doct. What is he?
Scar. A Mungrel Dancing-Master; therefore, Sir, since all the Injury’s mine, I’ll pardon him for a Dance, and let the Agility of his Heels save his Bones, with your Permission, Sir.