EPI: Nay, never quarrel with Cutbeard, sir; it is too late now. I
confess it doth bate somewhat of the modesty I had, when I writ
simply maid: but I hope, I shall make it a stock still competent
to the estate and dignity of your wife.

MOR: She can talk!

EPI: Yes, indeed, sir.

[ENTER MUTE.]

MOR: What sirrah! None of my knaves there? where is this impostor,
Cutbeard?

[MUTE MAKES SIGNS.]

EPI: Speak to him, fellow, speak to him! I'll have none of this
coacted, unnatural dumbness in my house, in a family where I
govern.

[EXIT MUTE.]

MOR: She is my regent already! I have married a Penthesilea, a
Semiramis, sold my liberty to a distaff.

[ENTER TRUEWIT.]

TRUE: Where's master Morose?

MOR: Is he come again! Lord have mercy upon me!