Sos. 'Tis mine, in the first place; and next, my master's; for I lie in the garret, and he lies under me.
Merc. Have your master and you no names, sirrah?
Sos. His name is Amphitryon; hear that, and tremble.
Merc. What, my lord general?
Sos. O, has his name mollified you! I have brought you down a peg lower already, friend.
Merc. And your name is——
Sos. Lord, friend, you are so very troublesome—what should my name be, but Sosia?
Merc. How, Sosia, say you? how long have you taken up that name, sirrah?
Sos. Here's a fine question! Why I never took it up, friend; it was born with me.