SCAN. I have some hieroglyphics too; I have a lawyer with a hundred hands, two heads, and but one face; a divine with two faces, and one head; and I have a soldier with his brains in his belly, and his heart where his head should be.
MRS. FRAIL. And no head?
SCAN. No head.
MRS. FRAIL. Pooh, this is all invention. Have you never a poet?
SCAN. Yes, I have a poet weighing words, and selling praise for praise, and a critic picking his pocket. I have another large piece too, representing a school, where there are huge proportioned critics, with long wigs, laced coats, Steinkirk cravats, and terrible faces; with cat-calls in their hands, and horn-books about their necks. I have many more of this kind, very well painted, as you shall see.
MRS. FRAIL. Well, I’ll come, if it be but to disprove you.
SCENE XIV.
[To them] Jeremy.
JERE. Sir, here’s the steward again from your father.
VAL. I’ll come to him—will you give me leave? I’ll wait on you again presently.