Sir John. That's a little too much, sir, by your favour, to beat him in my presence.
Sir Mart. That's a good one, i'faith; your presence shall hinder me from beating my own servant?
Warn. O traitor to all sense and reason! he's going to discover that too.
Sir Mart. An I had a mind to beat him to mummy, he's my own, I hope.
Sir John. At present, I must tell you, he's mine, sir.
Sir Mart. Hey-day! here's fine juggling!
Warn. Stop yet, sir, you are just upon the brink of a precipice.
[Aside.
Sir Mart. What is't thou mean'st now?—O Lord! my mind misgives me, I have done some fault; but would I were hanged if I can find it out.
[Aside.
Warn. There's no making him understand me.
Sir Mart. Pox on't, come what will, I'll not be faced down with a lie; I say, he is my man.