( the trappings of a lusty wench suggest) must make a bed of hebetude. Will he e’ er condense purport and forward any wherewithal? [ TO CLUTTERBUCK:] Ah ha, the master, I perpend, has use of miscreant service?
CLUTTERBUCK:
Yes, to point; the usurer Scapin, who I have just now paid, I wish to take another loan from him, but sans formality. Or to speak in bare language, I want him robbed of that amount he presently has in his purse. I want my money back, but without consequence.
MASCARILLE: Good lord, you mean to rob—
CLUTTERBUCK: Oh, hush; oh, pox! Not I, my man, but you. For well I know the tales and tunes of larceny and turpitude;’ tis but the lot of the valet to operate the evil whims of the mad master, such as I.
MASCARILLE: Alas, alack, I might be shocked. I thought perhaps you’ d grow to role with a few steps of callowness. Some fibs, defaults or bawdiness— but out and out iniquity; nay, felony! I have to say that servants serve, but not perhaps from dungeon cells. I’ d get the noose— CLUTTERBUCK: Not you; you are beyond reproach. A minor charge at most—
MASCARILLE: My hand chopped off—
CLUTTERBUCK: Pshaw! I’ d warrant you—