then? He is my own servant.

LEAND. At present he is mine.

LEL. That is an admirable joke. How comes he to be yours? Surely...

MASC. (_In a whisper_). Gently.

LEL. What are you whispering?

MASC. (_Aside_). Oh! the confounded blockhead. He is going to spoil
everything, He understands not one of my signs.

LEL. You are dreaming, Leander. You are telling me a pretty story! Is he
not my servant?

LEAND. Did you not discharge him from your service for some fault?

LEL. I do not know what this means.

LEAND. And did you not, in the violence of your passion, make his back
smart most unmercifully?

LEL. No such thing. I discharge him! cudgel him! Either you make a jest
of me, Leander, or he has been making a jest of you.

MASC. (_Aside_). Go on, go on, numskull; you will do your own
business effectually.

LEAND. (_To Mascarille_). Then all this cudgelling is purely