Harl. O good Mr. Doctor, conjure up no more Devils and I'll be gon, or any thing.—I came only to ask your Black Artship a Question.
Scar. No, this is not the Devil. Who art thou? Whence comest thou? What's thy Business, Quick, or Hogon strogon?
Harl. Hold, hold, hold, I am poor Harlequin: By the Learned I am called Zane, by the Vulgar Jack Pudding. I was late Fool to a Mountebank; and last Night, in the mistaking the Pipkin, I eat up a Pot of Bolus instead of Hasty Pudding; and devour'd Three Yards of Diaculum Plaister instead of Pancake, for which my Master has turn'd me out of Doors instead of Wages: Therefore, to be reveng'd, I come to hire a Devil or two of you, Mr. Doctor, of a strong Constitution, that may swallow up his Turpentine Pills as fast as he makes 'em, that he may never cure poor Whore more of a Clap; and then he'll be undone, for they are his chief Patients.
Scar. What Practice has he?
Harl. Why his Business is to patch up rotten Whores against the Term for Country Lawyers, and Attorneys Clerks; and against Christmas, Easter and Whitsun Holidays, for City Apprentices; and if his Pills be destroy'd, 'twill ruin him in one Term.
Scar. Come in; and for a Crown a Week I'll lett thee out a Devil, as they do Horses at Livery, shall swallow him a Peck of Pills a day, though every one were as big as a Pumpkin; and make nothing of a Bolus for a Breakfast.
Harl. O brave Mr. Doctor! O dainty Mr. Devil!
Scar. Seigniora. [Here they Complement who shall go first.
The End of the First Act.