Aust. I might, perhaps, have look'd for better thanks,
Than taunts to pay my service.—But no matter.—
My son, too, serv'd thee nobly; he bestrode thee,
And drove those peasants back, whose staves and clubs,
But for his aid, had shiver'd that stout frame:
But both, too well accustom'd to thy transports,
Nor ask, nor hope thy courtesy.
Count. Your pardon!
I knew my life was sav'd, but not by whom;
I wish'd it not, yet thank him. I was down,