_Lord Fop._ Ay, but you are not so good a Judge of those things as I am, I have study'd them all my Life; therefore pray let the next be the thickness of a Crawn-piece less----[_Aside._] If the Town takes notice my Legs are fallen away, 'twill be attributed to the Violence of some new Intrigue. _To the Perriwig-maker._] Come, Mr. _Foretop_, let me see what you have done, and then the Fatigue of the Morning will be over. _Foretop._ My Lord, I have done what I defy any Prince in _Europe_ to out-do; I have made you a Perriwig so long, and so full of Hair, it will serve you for a Hat and Cloak in all Weathers. _Lord Fop._ Then thou hast made me thy Friend to Eternity: Come, comb it out. _Young Fash._ Well, _Lory_, What do'st think on't? A very friendly Reception from a Brother after Three Years Absence! _Lory._ Why, Sir, 'tis your own Fault; we seldom care for those that don't love what we love: if you wou'd creep into his Heart, you must enter into his Pleasures--Here you have stood ever since you came in, and have not commended any one thing that belongs to him. _Young Fash._ Nor never shall, while they belong to a Coxcomb. _Lory._ Then, Sir, you must be content to pick a hungry Bone. _Young Fash._ No, Sir, I'll crack it, and get to the Marrow before I have done. _Lord Fop._ Gad's Curse! Mr. _Foretop_, you don't intend to put this upon me for a full Perriwig? _Fore._ Not a full one, my Lord! I don't know what your Lordship may please to call a full one, but I have cramm'd twenty Ounces of Hair into it. _Lord Fop._ What it may be by Weight, Sir, I shall not dispute; but by Tale, there are not nine Hairs on a side. _Fore._ O Lord! O Lord! O Lord! Why, as God shall judge me, your Honor's Side-Face is reduc'd to the Tip of your Nose. _Lord Fop._ My Side-Face may be in an Eclipse for aught I know; but I'm sure my Full-Face is like the Full-moon. _Fore._ Heaven bless my Eye-sight----[_Rubbing his Eyes._] Sure I look thro' the wrong end of the Perspective; for by my Faith, an't please your Honour, the broadest place I see in your Face does not seem to me to be two Inches diameter. _Lord Fop._ If it did, it would just be two Inches too broad; for a Perriwig to a Man, should be like a Mask to a Woman, nothing should be seen but his Eyes-- _Fore._ My Lord, I have done; if you please to have more Hair in your Wig, I'll put it in. _Lord Fop._ Passitively, yes. _Fore._ Shall I take it back now, my Lord? _Lord Fop._ No: I'll wear it to-day, tho' it shew such a manstrous pair of Cheeks, stap my Vitals, I shall be taken for a Trumpeter. [_Exit ~Fore~._ _Young Fash._ Now your People of Business are gone, Brother, I hope I may obtain a quarter of an Hour's Audience of you.