[She goes between ‘em, and surveys ‘em both, they making ridiculous bows on both sides, and Grimaces the while.
—Ha, now on my Conscience, my two foolish Lovers, Harlequin and Scaramouch; how are my Hopes defeated?—but, faith, I’ll fit you both. [She views ‘em both.
Scar. So she’s considering still, I shall be the happy Dog. [Aside.
Har. She’s taking aim, she cannot chuse but like me best. [Aside.
Scar. Well, Madam, how does my Person propagate? [Bowing and smiling.
Mop. Faith, Seignior, now I look better on you, I do not like your Phisnomy so well as your Intellects; you discovering some circumstantial Symptoms that ever denote a villanous Inconstancy.
Scar. Ah, are you pleas’d, Madam.
Mop. You are mistaken, Seignior. I am displeas’d at your Grey-Eyes, and black Eye-brows, and Beard; I never knew a Man with those Signs, true to his Mistress or his Friend. And I wou’d sooner wed that Scoundrel Scaramouch, that very civil Pimp, that mere pair of chymical Bellows that blow the Doctor’s projecting Fires, that Deputy-urinal Shaker, that very Guzman of Salamanca. than a Fellow of your infallible Signum Mallis.
Har. Ha, ha, ha, you have your Answer, Seignior Friskin—and may shut up your Shop and be gone.—Ha, ha, ha.
Scar. Hum, sure the Jade knows me. [Aside.