Mop. And as for you, Seignior—
Har. Ha, Madam. [Bowing and smiling.
Mop. Those Lanthorn Jaws of yours, with that most villanous Sneer and Grin, and a certain fierce Air of your Eyes, looks altogether most fanatically—which with your notorious Whey Beard, are certain Signs of Knavery and Cowardice; therefore I’ad rather wed that Spider Harlequin, that Sceleton Buffoon, that Ape of Man, that Jack of Lent, that very Top, that’s of no use, but when ‘tis whip’d and lash’d, that piteous Property I’ad rather wed than thee.
Har. A very fair Declaration.
Mop. You understand me—and so adieu, sweet Glisterpipe, and Seignior Dirty-Boots, Ha, ha, ha. [Runs out.
[They stand looking simply on each other, without speaking a while.
Scar. That I shou’d not know that Rogue Harlequin. [Aside.
Har. That I shou’d take this Fool for a Physician. [Aside. —How long have you commenc’d Apothecary, Seignior?
Scar. Ever since you turn’d Farmer.—Are not you a damn’d Rogue to put these Tricks upon me, and most dishonourably break all Articles between us?
Har. And are not you a dam’d Son of a—something—to break Articles with me?