MERC. What are you mumbling between your teeth?

SOS. Nothing. But, in the name of the Gods, give me leave to speak
one moment with you.

MERC. Speak.

SOS. But promise me, I beseech you, that there shall not be any more
strokes. Let us sign a truce.

MERC. Let that pass; go on, I grant you this point.

SOS. Tell me, who put this fancy into your head? What benefit will
it be to you to take my name? In short, were you a demon, could you
hinder me from being myself, from being Sosie?

MERC. What is this, you dare . . .

SOS. Ah! Gently: there is a truce to blows.

MERC. What! Gallows-bird, impostor, scoundrel ...

SOS. As for abuse, give me as much as you please; it makes but a
slight wound and does not bother me.

MERC. You say you are Sosie?

SOS. Yes. Some ridiculous tale . . .