Lau. You see my project; his man Fabio is bribed by me, to hold him in discourse.
Enter Benito, looking about him.
Vio. In my conscience this is he. Lord, what a monster of a man is there! with such a workiday rough-hewn face too! for, faith, heaven has not bestowed the finishing upon it.
Lau. It is impossible this should be Benito; yet he stalks this way. From such a piece of animated timber, sweet heaven deliver me!
Ben. [Aside.] This must of necessity be the lady who is in love with me. See, how she surveys my person! certainly one wit knows another by instinct. By that old gentleman, it should be the lady Laura too. Hum! Benito, thou art made for ever.
Lau. He has the most unpromising face, for a wit, I ever saw; and yet he had need have a very good one, to make amends for his face. I am half cured of him already.
Ben. What means all this surveying, madam? You bristle up to me, and wheel about me, like a turkey-cock that is making love: Faith, how do you like my person, ha?
Lau. I dare not praise it, for fear of the old compliment, that you should tell me, it is at my service. But, pray, is your name Benito?
Ben. Signior Benito, at your service, madam.
Lau. And have you no brother, or any other of your name; one that is a wit, attending on signior Aurelian?