Volume I Part 46 (1/2)

_Aria._ Farewel, believing c.o.xcomb. [Enter _Lucia_.

_Lucia._ Madam, the Clothes are ready in your Chamber.

_Aria._ Let's haste and put 'em on then. [Runs out.

ACT III.

SCENE I. _A House._

Enter _Fetherfool_ and _Blunt_, staring about, after them _s.h.i.+ft_.

_s.h.i.+ft._ Well, Gentlemen, this is the Doctor's House, and your fifty Pistoles has made him intirely yours; the Ladies too are here in safe Custody-- Come, draw Lots who shall have the Dwarf, and who the Giant.

[They draw.

_Feth._ I have the Giant.

_Blunt._ And I the little tiny Gentlewoman.

_s.h.i.+ft._ Well, you shall first see the Ladies, and then prepare for your Uncle _Moses_, the old _Jew_ Guardian, before whom you must be very grave and sententious: You know the old Law was full of Ceremony.

_Feth._ Well, I long to see the Ladies, and to have the first Onset over.

_s.h.i.+ft._ I'll cause 'em to walk forth immediately. [Goes out.

_Feth._ My Heart begins to fail me plaguily-- would I could see 'em a little at a Distance before they come slap dash upon a Man.

[Peeping.

Hah!-- Mercy upon us!-- What's yonder!-- Ah, _Ned_, my Monster is as big as the Wh.o.r.e of _Babylon_-- Oh I'm in a cold Sweat-- [_Blunt_ pulls him to peep, and both do so.

Oh Lord! she's as tall as the St. _Christopher_ in _Notre-dame_ at _Paris_, and the little one looks like the Christo upon his Shoulders-- I shall ne'er be able to stand the first Brunt.

_Blunt._ 'Dsheartlikins, whither art going? [Pulls him back.

_Feth._ Why only-- to-- say my Prayers a little-- I'll be with thee presently.

[Offers to go, he pulls him.

_Blunt._ What a Pox, art thou afraid of a Woman--

_Feth._ Not of a Woman, _Ned_, but of a She _Gargantua_, I am of a _Hercules_ in Petticoats.

_Blunt._ The less Resemblance the better. 'Shartlikins, I'd rather mine were a _Centaur_ than a Woman: No, since my _Naples_ Adventure, I am clearly for your Monster.

_Feth._ Prithee, _Ned_, there's Reason in all things--

_Blunt._ But villainous Woman-- 'Dshartlikins, stand your Ground, or I'll nail you to't: Why, what a Pox are you so quezy stomach'd, a Monster won't down with you, with a hundred thousand Pound to boot.

[Pulling him.

_Feth._ Nay, _Ned_, that mollifies something; and I scorn it should be said of _Nich. Fetherfool_ that he left his Friend in danger, or did an ill thing: therefore, as thou say'st, _Ned_, tho she were a Centaur, I'll not budg an Inch.