Sir Mart. What will become of us two now? I trust to the rogue's wit to bring me off.
Mood. If thou wouldst have me believe thee, take one of these two cudgels, and help me to lay it on soundly.
Warn. With all my heart.
Mood. Out, you cheat, you hypocrite, you impostor! Do you come hither to cozen an honest man?
[Beats him.
Sir Mart. Hold, hold, sir!
Warn. Do you come hither, with a lye, to get a father, Mr Anthony of East India?
Sir Mart. Hold, you inhuman butcher!
Warn. I'll teach you to counterfeit again, sir.
Sir Mart. The rogue will murder me.
[Exit Sir Mart.
Mood. A fair riddance of 'em both: Let's in and laugh at 'em.
[Exeunt.