_Fal_. Well, that’s all one; but if she should Demand any thing concerning me, (for Love’s inquisitive) dost hear? as to my Valour, or so, Thou understand’st me; tell her I acted as a man that pretends to the glory of Serving her. _Lab_. I warrant you, Sir, for a Speech. _Fal_. Nay, thou mayst speak as well too much As too little; have a care of that, dost hear? And if she ask what Wounds I have, dost mind me? Tell her I have many, very many. _Lab_. But whereabouts, Sir? _Fal_. Let me see--let me see; I know not where To place them--I think in my Face. _Lab_. By no means, Sir, you had much better Have them in your Posteriors: for then the Ladies Can never disprove you; they’ll not look there. _Fal_. The sooner, you Fool, for the Rarity on’t. _Lab_. Sir, the Novelty is not so great, I assure you. _Fal_. Go to, y’are wicked; But I will have them in my Face. _Lab_. With all my heart, Sir, but how? _Fal_. I’ll wear a patch or two there, and I’ll Warrant you for pretending as much as any man; And who, you Fool, shall know the fallacy? _Lab_. That, Sir, will all that know you, both in the Court and Camp. _Fal_. Mark me, _Labree_, once for all; if thou takest Delight continually thus to put me in mind of My want of Courage, I shall undoubtedly Fall foul on thee, and give thee most fatal proofs Of more than thou expectest. _Lab_. Nay, Sir, I have done, and do believe ‘tis only I dare say you are a man of Prowess. _Fal_. Leave thy simple fancies, and go about thy business. _Lab_. I am gone; but hark, my Lord, If I should say your Face were wounded, The Ladies would fear you had lost your Beauty. _Fal_. O, never trouble your head for that, _Aminta_ Is a Wit, and your Wits care not how ill-favour’d Their Men be, the more ugly the better. _Lab_. An’t be so, you’ll fit them to a hair. _Fal_. Thou art a Coxcomb, to think a man of my Quality needs the advantage of Handsomness: A trifle as insignificant as Wit or Valour; poor Nothings, which Men of Fortune ought to despise. _Lab_. Why do you then keep such a stir, to gain The reputation of this thing you so despise? _Fal_. To please the peevish humour of a Woman, Who in that point only is a Fool. _Lab_. You had a Mistress once, if you have not Forgotten her, who would have taken you with All these faults. _Fal_. There was so; but she was poor, that’s the Devil, I could have lov’d her else. --But go thy ways; what dost thou muse on? _Lab_. Faith, Sir, I am only fearful you will never Pass with those Patches you speak of. _Fal_. Thou never-to-be-reclaim’d Ass, shall I never Bring thee to apprehend as thou ought’st? I tell thee, I will pass and repass, where and how I please; Know’st thou not the difference yet, between a Man Of Money and Titles, and a Man of only Parts, As they call them? poor Devils of no Mein nor Garb: Well, ‘tis a fine and frugal thing, this Honour, It covers a multitude of Faults: Even Ridicule in one of us is a-la-mode. But I detain thee; go haste to _Aminta_.