Tyc. What is it?
Si. No, I do not think I have got up the theory of it sufficiently. For the present, rest assured that I have a profession, and cease your strictures on that head. Its nature you shall know another time.
Tyc. No, no; I will not be put off like that.
Si. Well, I am afraid my profession would be rather a shock to you.
Tyc. I like shocks.
Si. Well, I will tell you some day.
Tyc. Now, I say; or else I shall know you are ashamed of it.
Si. Well, then, I sponge.
Tyc. Why, what sane man would call sponging a profession?
Si. I, for one. And if you think I am not sane, put down my innocence of other professions to insanity, and let that be my sufficient excuse. My lady Insanity, they say, is unkind to her votaries in most respects; but at least she excuses their offences, which she makes herself responsible for, like a schoolmaster or tutor.