Mood. Saucy rascal! This is past all sufferance.
Rose. We are undone, Warner, if this discourse go on any further.
Lord. Pray, sir, take pity on the poor gentleman; he has more need of a good supper, than to be asked so many questions.
Sir John. These are rogues, sir, I plainly perceive it; pray let me ask him one question—Which way did you come home, sir?
Sir Mart. We came home by land, sir.
Warn. That is, from India to Persia, from Persia to Turkey, from Turkey to Germany, from Germany to France.
Sir John. And from thence, over the narrow seas on horse-back.
Mood. 'Tis so, I discern it now; but some shall smoke for it. Stay a little, Anthony, I'll be with you presently.
[Exit Mood.
Warn. That wicked old man is gone for no good, I'm afraid; would I were fairly quit of him.
[Aside.
Mill. aside.] Tell me no more of Sir Martin, Rose; he wants natural sense, to talk after this rate: but for this Warner, I am strangely taken with him; how handsomely he brought him off!