SOS. Your blows have not made any metamorphosis in me; all the
change there is is that in the matter I am Sosie thrashed.

MERC. Still? A hundred fresh blows for this fresh impudence.

SOS. Have mercy, a truce to your blows.

MERC. Then a truce to your insolence.

SOS. Anything that pleases you; I will keep silence. The dispute
between us is too unequal.

MERC. Are you still Sosie? Say, villain!

SOS. Alas! I am what you wish; dispose of my lot exactly as you
please: your arm 'has made you the master of it.

MERC. I think you said your name was Sosie?

SOS. True, until now I thought the matter was clear; but your rod
has made me see that I was mistaken in this affair.

MERC. I am Sosie: all Thebes avows it. Amphitryon has never had other than me.

SOS. You, Sosie?

MERC. Yes, Sosie; and if any one trifles with me, he must take care of himself.

SOS. Heavens! Must I thus renounce myself, and see my name stolen by
an impostor. How lucky I am a poltroon! Or, by the death . . .!