Wood. Most certainly a thief; for, hearing my landlady cry out, I flew from my chamber to her help, and met him running down stairs, and then he turned back to the balcony, and leapt into the street.
Limb. I thought, indeed, that something held down the chest, when I would have opened it:—But my writings are there still, that's one comfort.—Oh seignioro, are you here?
Wood. Do you speak to me, sir?
Saint. This is Mr Woodall, your new fellow-lodger.
Limb. Cry you mercy, sir; I durst have sworn you could have spoken lingua Franca—I thought, 049 in my conscience, Pug, this had been thy Italian merchanto.
Wood. Sir, I see you mistake me for some other: I should be happy to be better known to you.
Limb. Sir, I beg your pardon, with all my hearto. Before George, I was caught again there! But you are so very like a paltry fellow, who came to sell Pug essences this morning, that one would swear those eyes, and that nose and mouth, belonged to that rascal.
Wood. You must pardon me, sir, if I do not much relish the close of your compliment.
Trick. Their eyes are nothing like:—you'll have a quarrel.
Limb. Not very like, I confess.