Scar. No more Words, Sir, no more Words, I find it must come to Actions, draw. [Draws.
Har. Draw!—so I can draw, Sir. [Draws.
[They make a ridiculous cowardly Fight. Enter the Doctor, which they seeing, come on with more Courage. He runs between, and with his Cane beats the Swords down.
Doct. Hold, hold, what mean you, Gentlemen?
Scar. Let me go, Sir, I am provok’d beyond measure, Sir.
Doct. You must excuse me, Seignior. [Parlies with Harlequin.
Scar. I dare not discover the Fool for his Master’s sake, and it may spoil our Intrigue anon; besides, he’ll then discover me, and I shall be discarded for bantering the Doctor. [Aside. —Man of Honour to be so basely affronted here.
[The Doctor comes to appease Scaramouch.
Har. Shou’d I discover this Rascal, he wou’d tell the old Gentleman I was the same that attempted his House to day in Woman’s Clothes, and I should be kick’d and beaten most insatiably.
Scar. What, Seignior, for a Man of Parts to be impos’d upon, and whip’d through the Lungs here—like a Mountebank’s Zany for sham Cures —Mr. Doctor, I must tell you ‘tis not civil.