Your insolence. The whipping you will get
Will save me trouble.
T.I pray you on my knees.
F. Get up, fool, lest you sneeze. And would you escape
Your rich deservings, be off.
T. Betray me not, sir: I will obey you better.
F. Silence: go do as I bid you. Begone, and take your boots. [Exit T.
So my man knows her secret. ’Tis high time
That Laura and I were off. This salves my conscience
From any scruple. ’Tis a rule of art