And. Tell them what thou wilt, and eat that I can best spare from my back-parts, and get you gone with a vengeance. [Exit Purveyor.
Enter Ateukin.
Ateu. Andrew.
And. Sir?
Ateu. Where be my writings I put in my pocket last night?
And. Which, sir? your annotations upon Machiavel?
Ateu. No, sir; the letters-patents for East Spring.
And. Why, sir, you talk wonders to me, if you ask that question.
Ateu. Yea, sir, and will work wonders too with you, unless you find them out: villain, search me them out, and bring them me, or thou art but dead.
And. A terrible word in the latter end of a sessions. Master, were you in your right wits yesternight?