_Har_. This is, perhaps, my Rival the Apothecary.--Speak with, Sir! why, what’s that to you? _Scar_. Have you Affairs with Seignor Doctor, Sir? _Har_. It may be I have, it may be I have not. What then, Sir? _While they seem in angry Dispute, enter_ Mopsophil. _Mop_. Seignior Doctor tells me I have a Lover waits me, sure it must be the Farmer or the Apothecary. No matter which, so a Lover that welcomest Man alive. I am resolv’d to take the first good Offer, though but in revenge of _Harlequin_ and _Scaramouch_, for putting Tricks upon me. --Ha,--Two of ‘em! _Scar_. My Mistress here! [_They both bow, and advance, putting each other by_. _Mop_. Hold, Gentlemen,--do not worry me. Which of you wou’d speak with me? _Both_. I, I, I, Madam-- _Mop_. Both of you? _Both_. No, Madam, I, I. _Mop_. If both Lovers, you are both welcome; but let’s have fair Play, and take your turns to speak. _Har_. Ay, Seignior, ‘tis most uncivil to interrupt me. _Scar_. And disingenuous, Sir, to intrude on me. [_Putting one another by_. _Mop_. Let me then speak first. _Har_. I’m dumb. _Scar_. I acquiesce. _Mop_. I was inform’d there was a Person here had Propositions of Marriage to make me. _Har_. That’s I, that’s I-- [_Shoves_ Scar. _away_. _Scar_. And I attend to that consequential _Finis_. [_Shoves_ Har. _away_. _Har_. I know not what you mean by your Finis, Seignior; but I am come to offer my self this Gentlewoman’s Servant, her Lover, her Husband, her Dog in a Halter, or any thing. _Scar_. Him I pronounce a Paltroon, and an ignominious Utensil, that dare lay claim to the renowned Lady of my _Primum Mobile_; that is, my best Affections. [_In Rage_. _Har_. I fear not your hard Words, Sir, but dare aloud pronounce, if _Donna Mopsophil_ like me, the Farmer, as well as I like her, ‘tis a Match, and my Chariot’s ready at the Gate to bear her off, d’ye see. _Mop_. Ah, how that Chariot pleads. [_Aside_. _Scar_. And I pronounce, that being intoxicated with the sweet Eyes of this refulgent Lady, I come to tender her my noblest Particulars, being already most advantageously set up with the circumstantial Implements of my Occupation. [_Points to the Shop_. _Mop_. A City Apothecary, a most genteel Calling--Which shall I chuse? --Seignior Apothecary, I’ll not expostulate the circumstantial Reasons that have occasion’d me this Honour. _Scar_. Incomparable Lady, the Elegancy of your Repartees most excellently denotes the Profundity of your Capacity. _Har_. What the Devil’s all this? Good Mr. Conjurer, stand by--and don’t fright the Gentlewoman with your elegant Profundities. [_Puts him by_. _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.