Enter to him Harlequin, dress’d like a Farmer, as before.
Har. Hum—What have we here, a Taylor or a Tumbler?
Scar. Ha—Who’s this?—Hum—What if it shou’d be the Farmer that the Doctor has promis’d Mopsophil to? My Heart misgives me. [They look at each other a while. Who wou’d you speak with, Friend?
Har. This is, perhaps, my Rival the Apothecary.—Speak with, Sir! why, what’s that to you?
Scar. Have you Affairs with Seignor Doctor, Sir?
Har. It may be I have, it may be I have not. What then, Sir?
While they seem in angry Dispute, enter Mopsophil.
Mop. Seignior Doctor tells me I have a Lover waits me, sure it must be the Farmer or the Apothecary. No matter which, so a Lover that welcomest Man alive. I am resolv’d to take the first good Offer, though but in revenge of Harlequin and Scaramouch, for putting Tricks upon me. —Ha,—Two of ‘em!
Scar. My Mistress here!
[They both bow, and advance, putting each other by.