Scrub. Good Mr. Priest, you can't speak with her; she's sick, sir, she's gone abroad, sir, she's—dead two months ago, sir.
Re-enter Gipsy.
Gip. How now, impudence! how dare you talk so saucily to the doctor?—Pray, sir, don't take it ill; for the common people of England are not so civil to strangers, as—
Scrub. You lie! you lie! 'tis the common people that are civilest to strangers.
Gip. Sirrah, I have a good mind to—get you out I say.
Scrub. I won't. . [251]
Gip. You won't, sauce-box!—Pray, doctor, what, is the captain's name that came to your inn last night?
Scrub. [Aside.] The captain! ah, the devil, there she hampers me again; the captain has me on one side, and the priest on t' other: so between the gown and the sword, I have a fine time on't.—But, Cedunt arma toga. [Going.
Gip. What, sirrah, won't you march?
Scrub. No, my dear, I won't march—but I'll walk.— [Aside.] And I 'll make bold to listen a little too.