Diggory. My master, the Governor, says you are a very learned man, a what-you-call-'em—a scientist; and a scientist can do anything.
Roger. Humph!—Diggory, I do not deal in philters; they are out of date—but I know a charm will win her love.
Diggory. Tell it me for the love of—
Roger. Thou wilt betray it, Diggory.
Diggory. Never! Never!
Roger. Omit thou but a word of it, and the maiden's lost to thee—but con it well, and all her beauties will be thine.
Diggory. Oh! Doctor!
Roger. Take of the rendered grease of three black bears—do not fail in that—anoint thy curly locks—
Diggory. My hair is straight.
Roger. Never mind—but rub; and, as thou dost, repeat these words: