TRIN. You kill me, sir. PAN. Have patience. TRIN. Pray you, sir! PAN. Seek not by humble penitence t' appease me: Nothing can satisfy. TRIN. Farewell, humility; Now am I beaten sober. [_Takes away_ PANDOLFO's _staff_. Shall age and weakness master my youth and strength? Now speak your pleasure: what's my fault? PAN. Dar'st deny Thy own act, done before so many witnesses, Suborn'd by others, and betray my confidence With such a stony impudence? TRIN. I have been faithful In all you trusted me. PAN. To them, not me. O, what a proem, stuff'd with grave advice And learned counsel, you could show'r upon me Before the thunder of your deadly sentence! And give away my mistress with a scoff! TRIN. I give your mistress? PAN. Didst not thou decree, Contrary t' our compact, against my marriage? TRIN. Why, when was I your judge? PAN. Just now here. TRIN. See your error! Then was I fast lock'd in Antonio's cellar: Where, making virtue of necessity, I drank stark drunk, and waking, found myself Cloth'd in this farmer's suit, as in the morning. PAN. Didst not thou swear to enter Antonio's house, And give me Flavia for my wife, and after, Before my own face, gav'st her to my son? TRIN. Ha, ha, ha! [_Whilst_ TRINCALO _laughs and lets fall the staff_, PANDOLFO _recovers it, and beats him_. PAN. Canst thou deny it? TRIN. Ha, ha, ha! Have you got Mistress Patience? Ha, ha, ha! PAN. Is not this true? TRIN. Ha, ha, ha! PAN. Answer me. TRIN. Ha, ha, ha wan! PAN. Was't not thus? TRIN. I answer: first, I never was transform'd, But gull'd, as you were, by th' astrologer, And those that called me Antonio. To prove This true, the gentleman you spoke with was Antonio-- The right Antonio, safely return'd from Barbary. PAN. O me, what's this? TRIN. Truth itself. PAN. Was't not thou that gav'st the sentence? TRIN. Believe me, no such matter: I ne'er was gentleman, nor otherwise Than what I am, unless 'twere when I was drunk. PAN. How have I been deceiv'd! good Trincalo, Pardon me, I have wrong'd thee. TRIN. Pardon you? When you have beaten me to paste, _Good Trincalo, Pardon me!_ PAN. I am sorry for't; excuse me. TRIN. I am sorry I can't[357] excuse you. But I pardon you. PAN. Now tell me, where's the plate and cloth of silver, The gold and jewels, that the astrologer Committed to thy keeping?