MERC. Not at all.
SOS. Let your soul humanise itself with a little pity! Allow me to be near you in that capacity: I shall be everywhere so submissive a shadow that you will be pleased with me.
MERC. No quarter; the law is immutable. If you again have the audacity to go in there, a thousand blows shall be the fruit.
SOS. Alas! Poor Sosie, to what miserable disgrace are you reduced!
MERC. So? Your lips presume again to give yourself a name I forbid!
SOS. No, I did not intend myself; I was speaking of an old Sosie, who was formerly a relative of mine, and whom, with the utmost barbarity, they drove out of the house at dinner hour.
MERC. Take care you do not fall into that idiocy if you wish to remain among the number of the living.
SOS. How I would thwack you if I had the courage, for your wretched puffed up pride, you double son of a strumpet!
MERC. What do you say?
SOS. Nothing.