ebus slumbers too long in bed through having taken too much wine.

MERC. With what irreverence this lubber speaks of the Gods! My arm
shall soon chastise this insolence; I shall have a fine game with him,
stealing his name as well as his likeness.

SOS. Ah! upon my word, I was right: I am done for, miserable creature
that I am! I see a man before our house whose mien bodes me no good. I
will sing a little to show some semblance of assurance.

(He sings; and, when Mercury speaks, his voice weakens, little by
little.)

MERC. What rascal is this, who takes the unwarrantable licence of
singing and deafening me like this? Does he wish me to curry his coat
for him?

SOS. Assuredly that fellow does not like music.

MERC. For more than a week, I have not found any one whose bones I could
break; my arm will lose its strength in this idleness. I must look out
for some one's back to get my wind again.

SOS. What the deuce of a fellow is this? My heart thrills with clutching
fear. But why should I tremble thus? Perhaps the rogue is as much afraid
as I am, and talks in this way to hide his fear from me under a feigned
audacity. Yes, yes, I will not allow him to think me a goose. If I am
not bold, I will try to appear so. Let me seek courage by reason; he is
alone, even as I am; I am strong, I have a good master, and there is our
house.

MERC. Who goes there?

SOS. I.

MERC. Who, I?

SOS. I. Courage, Sosie!

MERC. Tell me, what is your condition?

SOS. To be a man, and to speak.

MERC. Are you a master, or a servant?

SOS. As fancy takes me.

MERC. Where are you going?

SOS. Where I intend to go.

MERC. Ah! This annoys me.

SOS. I am ravished to hear it.

MERC. By hook or by crook, I must definitely know all about you, you
wretch; what you do, whence you come before the day breaks, where you
are going, and who you may be.

SOS. I do good and ill by turns; I come from there; I go there; I belong
to my master.

MERC. You show wit, and I see you think to play the man of importance
for my edification. I feel inclined to make your acquaintance by
slapping your face.

SOS. Mine?

MERC. Yours; and there you get it, sharp. (Mercury gives him a slap.)

SOS. Ah! Ah! This is a fine game!

MERC. No; it is only a laughing matter, a reply to your quips.

SOS. Good heavens! Friend, how you swing out your arm without any one
saying anything to you.

MERC. These are my lightest clouts, little ordinary smacks.