Scar. I acquiesce.
Mop. I was inform’d there was a Person here had Propositions of Marriage to make me.
Har. That’s I, that’s I—
[Shoves Scar. away.
Scar. And I attend to that consequential Finis. [Shoves Har. away.
Har. I know not what you mean by your Finis, Seignior; but I am come to offer my self this Gentlewoman’s Servant, her Lover, her Husband, her Dog in a Halter, or any thing.
Scar. Him I pronounce a Paltroon, and an ignominious Utensil, that dare lay claim to the renowned Lady of my Primum Mobile; that is, my best Affections. [In Rage.
Har. I fear not your hard Words, Sir, but dare aloud pronounce, if Donna Mopsophil like me, the Farmer, as well as I like her, ‘tis a Match, and my Chariot’s ready at the Gate to bear her off, d’ye see.
Mop. Ah, how that Chariot pleads. [Aside.
Scar. And I pronounce, that being intoxicated with the sweet Eyes of this refulgent Lady, I come to tender her my noblest Particulars, being already most advantageously set up with the circumstantial Implements of my Occupation. [Points to the Shop.
Mop. A City Apothecary, a most genteel Calling—Which shall I chuse? —Seignior Apothecary, I’ll not expostulate the circumstantial Reasons that have occasion’d me this Honour.