_Bar_.
Where I please? this is pack'd sure to disgrace me.
_Die_.
Ye are just, and honest, and I know you will do it,
Ev'n where you please, for you know where the wealth is.
_Bar_.
I am abused, betrayed, I am laugh'd at, scorn'd,
Baffl'd, and boared, it seems.
_Ars_.
No, no, ye are fooled.
_Lop_.
Most finely fooled, and handsomely, and neatly,
Such cunning Masters must be fool'd sometimes, Sir,
And have their Worships noses wiped, 'tis healthful,
We are but quit: you fool us of our moneys
In every Cause, in every Quiddit wipe us.
_Die_.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, some more drink, for my heart, Gentlemen.
This merry Lawyer--ha, ha, ha, ha, this Scholar--
I think this fit will cure me: this Executor--
I shall laugh out my Lungs.
_Bar_.
This is derision above sufferance, villany
Plotted and set against me.
_Die_.
Faith 'tis Knavery,
In troth I must confess, thou art fool'd indeed, Lawyer.
_Mil_.
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