Grim. I believe nothing: Oh thou fond impostor,
When wert thou last in hell? Is not thy name
Forgot, and blotted from the infernal roll?
But since thou sayest, thy errand was to Osmond,
To Osmond shalt thou go: march, know thy driver.
Phil. [Kneeling.] Oh spare me, Grimbald, and I'll be thy slave,
Tempt hermits for thee, in their holy cells,
And virgins, in their dreams.
Grim. Canst thou, a devil, hope to cheat a devil?
A spy! why, that's a name abhorred in hell.