MOR: Out rogue! and must thou blow thy horn too?

MUTE: Alas, it is a post from the court, sir, that says, he must
speak with you, pain of death--

MOR: Pain of thy life, be silent!

[ENTER TRUEWIT WITH A POST-HORN, AND A HALTER IN HIS HAND.]

TRUE: By your leave, sir;--I am a stranger here:--Is your name
master Morose? is your name master Morose? Fishes! Pythagoreans
all! This is strange. What say you, sir? nothing? Has Harpocrates
been here with his club, among you? Well sir, I will believe you
to be the man at this time: I will venture upon you, sir. Your
friends at court commend them to you, sir--

MOR: O men! O manners! was there ever such an impudence?

TRUE: And are extremely solicitous for you, sir.

MOR: Whose knave are you?

TRUE: Mine own knave, and your compeer, sir.

MOR: Fetch me my sword--

TRUE: You shall taste the one half of my dagger, if you do, groom;
and you, the other, if you stir, sir: Be patient, I charge you,
in the king's name, and hear me without insurrection. They say, you
are to marry; to marry! do you mark, sir?