Just. But what? Proceed, pray, to the point.
Old M. But last night I slept here in town, please your worship, at the “Saracen’s Head.”
Land. (in a rage). At the “Saracen’s Head”! Yes, forsooth! none such ever slept at the “Saracen’s Head” afore, or shall afterwards, as long as my name’s Bustle, and the “Saracen’s Head” is the “Saracen’s Head.”
Just. Again! again! Mrs. Landlady, this is downright—I have said you should speak presently. He shall speak first, since I’ve said it—that’s poz! Speak on, friend. You slept last night at the “Saracen’s Head.”
Old M. Yes, please your worship, and I accuse nobody; but at night I had my little money safe, and in the morning it was gone.
Land. Gone!—gone, indeed, in my house! and this is the way I’m to be treated! Is it so? I couldn’t but speak, your worship, to such an inhuman like, out o’ the way, scandalous charge, if King George and all the Royal Family were sitting in your worship’s chair, beside you, to silence me (turning to the Old Man). And this is your gratitude, forsooth! Didn’t you tell me that any hole in my house was good enough for you, wheedling hypocrite? And the thanks I receive is to call me and mine a pack of thieves.
Old M. Oh, no, no, no, No—a pack of thieves, by no means.
Land. Ay, I thought when I came to speak we should have you upon your marrow-bones in—
Just. (imperiously). Silence! Five times have I commanded silence, and five times in vain; and I won’t command anything five times in vain—that’s poz!
Land. (in a pet, aside). Old Poz! (aloud). Then, your worship, I don’t see any business I have to be waiting here; the folks want me at home (returning and whispering). Shall I send the goose-pie up, your worship, if it’s ready?