Just. What is all this? What is this?
Land. (running on). None of your flummery stuff will go down with his worship no more than with me, I give you warning; so you may go further and fare worse, and spare your breath to cool your porridge.
Just. (waves his hand with dignity). Mrs. Bustle, good Mrs. Bustle, remember where you are. Silence! silence! Come forward, sir, and let me hear what you have to say.
(The Old Man comes forward.)
Just. Who and what may you be, friend, and what is your business with me?
Land. Sir, if your worship will give me leave—
(Justice makes a sign to her to be silent).
Old M. Please, your worship, I am an old soldier.
Land. (interrupting). An old hypocrite, say.
Just. Mrs. Bustle, pray, I desire, let the man speak.