Will. The Uncle, by my indeavour, is intirely yours—but whilst the Baths are preparing,’twould be well if you would think of what Age, Shape, and Complexion you would have your Ladies form’d in. Feth. Why, may we chuse, Mr. Doctor? Will. What Beauties you please. Feth. Then will I have my Giant, _Ned_, just such another Gentlewoman as I saw at Church to day—and about some fifteen. Blunt. Hum, fifteen—I begin to have a plaguy Itch about me too, towards a handsome Damsel of fifteen; but first let’s marry, lest they should be boiled away in these Baths of Reformation. Feth. But, Doctor, can you do all this without the help of the Devil? Will. Hum, some small Hand he has in the Business? we make an Exchange with him, give him the clippings of the Giant for so much of his Store as will serve to build the Dwarf. Blunt. Why, then mine will be more than three Parts Devil, Mr. Doctor. Will. Not so, the Stock is only Devil, the Graft is your own little Wife inoculated. Blunt. Well, let the Devil and you agree about this matter as soon as you please. Enter _Shift_ as an Operator. Shift. Sir, there is without a Person of an extraordinary Size wou’d speak with you. Will. Admit him. Enter _Harlequin_, ushers in _Hunt_ as a Giant. Feth. Hah—some o’ergrown Rival, on my Life. [_Feth._ gets from it. 159 Will. What the Devil have we here? [Aside. Hunt. _Bezolos mano’s_, Seignior, I understand there is a Lady whose Beauty and Proportion can only merit me: I’ll say no more—but shall be grateful to you for your Assistance. Feth. ’Tis so. Hunt. The Devil’s in’t if this does not fright ’em from a farther Courtship. [Aside. Will. Fear nothing, Seignior—Seignior, you may try your Chance, and visit the Ladies. [Talks to _Hunt_. Feth. Why, where the Devil could this Monster conceal himself all this while, that we should neither see nor hear of him? Blunt. Oh—he lay disguis’d; I have heard of an Army that has done so. Feth. Pox, no single House cou’d hold him. Blunt. No—he dispos’d himself in several parcels up and down the Town, here a Leg, and there an Arm; and hearing of this proper Match for him, put himself together to court his fellow Monster. Feth. Good Lord! I wonder what Religion he’s of. Blunt. Some heathen Papist, by his notable Plots and Contrivances. Will. ’Tis _Hunt_, that Rogue— [Aside.] Sir, I confess there is great Power in Sympathy—Conduct him to the Ladies— [He tries to go in at the Door. —I am sorry you cannot enter at that low Door, Seignior, I’ll have it broken down— Hunt. No, Seignior, I can go in at twice. Feth. How, at twice! what a Pox can he mean? Will. Oh, Sir,’tis a frequent thing by way of Inchantment. [_Hunt_ being all Doublet, leaps off from another Man who is all Breeches, and goes out; Breeches follows stalking. Feth. Oh Pox, Mr. Doctor, this must be the Devil.