[Struts off.
Mountebank. Who'll buy my Nostrums? Who'll buy my Nostrums?
Mask. What are they? (They all come round him.)
Mount. Different sorts, and for different customers. Here's a Liquor for Ladies—it expels the rage of Gaming and Gallantry; Here's a Pill for Members of Parliament—good to settle Consciences. Here's an Eye-Water for Jealous Husbands—it thickens the Visual Membrane, through which they see too clearly. Here's a Decoction for the Clergy—it never sits easy, if the patient has more than One Living. Here's a Draught for Lawyers—a great promoter of Modesty. Here's a Powder for Projectors—'twill rectify the fumes of an Empty Stomach, and dissipate their airy castles.
Mask. Have you a Nostrum that can give patience to Young Heirs, whose Uncles and Fathers are stout and healthy?
Mount. Yes; and I have an Infusion for Creditors—it gives resignation and humility, when Fine Gentlemen break their promises, or plead their privilege.
Mask. Come along:—I'll find you customers for your whole cargo.
Enter Hardy, in the Dress of Isaac Mendoza.
Hardy. Why, isn't it a shame to see so many stout, well-built Young Fellows, masquerading, and cutting Couranta's here at home—instead of making the French cut capers to the tune of your Cannon—or sweating the Spaniards with an English Fandango?—I foresee the end of all this.
Mask. Why, thou little testy Israelite! back to Duke's Place; and preach your tribe into a subscription for the good of the land on whose milk and honey ye fatten.—Where are your Joshuas and your Gideons, aye? What! all dwindled into Stockbrokers, Pedlars, and Rag-Men?