Joyce. So I do, sir.
Bub. Ay, but look upon me well, and tell me if ever you saw any man look so scurvily as I do?
Joyce. The fellow, sure, is frantic.
[Aside.]
Bub. You do not mark me.
Joyce. Yes, indeed, sir.
Bub. Ay, but look upon me well:
Did you ever see a worse-timber'd leg?
Joyce. By my faith, 'tis a pretty four-square leg.
Bub. Ay, but your four-square legs are none of the best. O Gervase, Gervase!
[Aside.]
Staines. Excellent well, sir.