Scar.  How, a Conjurer!  I will chastise thy vulgar Ignorance, that yclepes a Philosopher a Conjurer. [In Rage.

Har.  Losaphers!—­Prithee, if thou be’st a Man, speak like a Man—­then.

Scar.  Why, what do I speak like? what do I speak like?

Har.  What do you speak like!—­why you speak like a Wheel-Barrow.

Scar.  How!

Har.  And how.

    [They come up close together at half Sword Parry; stare on each
    other for a while, then put up and bow to each other civilly.

Mop.  That’s well, Gentlemen, let’s have all Peace, while I survey you both, and see which likes me best.

[She goes between ’em, and surveys ’em both, they making
ridiculous bows on both sides, and Grimaces the while.

—­Ha, now on my Conscience, my two foolish Lovers, Harlequin and Scaramouch; how are my Hopes defeated?—­but, faith, I’ll fit you both.
         [She views ’em both.

Scar.  So she’s considering still, I shall be the happy Dog. [Aside.

Har.  She’s taking aim, she cannot chuse but like me best. [Aside.

Scar.  Well, Madam, how does my Person propagate?
          
                                        [Bowing and smiling.

Mop.  Faith, Seignior, now I look better on you, I do not like your Phisnomy so well as your Intellects; you discovering some circumstantial Symptoms that ever denote a villanous Inconstancy.

Scar.  Ah, are you pleas’d, Madam.

Mop.  You are mistaken, Seignior.  I am displeas’d at your Grey-Eyes, and black Eye-brows, and Beard; I never knew a Man with those Signs, true to his Mistress or his Friend.  And I wou’d sooner wed that Scoundrel Scaramouch, that very civil Pimp, that mere pair of chymical Bellows that blow the Doctor’s projecting Fires, that Deputy-urinal Shaker, that very Guzman of Salamanca. than a Fellow of your infallible Signum Mallis.

Har.  Ha, ha, ha, you have your Answer, Seignior Friskin—­and may shut up your Shop and be gone.—­Ha, ha, ha.

Scar.  Hum, sure the Jade knows me. [Aside.

Mop.  And as for you, Seignior—­

Har.  Ha, Madam. [Bowing and smiling.

Mop.  Those Lanthorn Jaws of yours, with that most villanous Sneer and Grin, and a certain fierce Air of your Eyes, looks altogether most fanatically—­which with your notorious Whey Beard, are certain Signs of Knavery and Cowardice; therefore I’ad rather wed that Spider Harlequin, that Sceleton Buffoon, that Ape of Man, that Jack of Lent, that very Top, that’s of no use, but when ’tis whip’d and lash’d, that piteous Property I’ad rather wed than thee.

Har.  A very fair Declaration.