SIR SAMP. What, is he gone out of town, run away, ha? has he tricked me? Speak, varlet. JERE. No, no, sir, he’s safe enough, sir, an he were but as sound, poor gentleman. He is indeed here, sir, and not here, sir. SIR SAMP. Hey day, rascal, do you banter me? Sirrah, d’ye banter me? Speak, sirrah, where is he? for I will find him. JERE. Would you could, sir, for he has lost himself. Indeed, sir, I have a’most broke my heart about him—I can’t refrain tears when I think of him, sir: I’m as melancholy for him as a passing-bell, sir, or a horse in a pound. SIR SAMP. A pox confound your similitudes, sir. Speak to be understood, and tell me in plain terms what the matter is with him, or I’ll crack your fool’s skull. JERE. Ah, you’ve hit it, sir; that’s the matter with him, sir: his skull’s cracked, poor gentleman; he’s stark mad, sir. SIR SAMP. Mad! BUCK. What, is he _non compos_? JERE. Quite _non compos_, sir. BUCK. Why, then, all’s obliterated, Sir Sampson, if he be _non compos mentis_; his act and deed will be of no effect, it is not good in law. SIR SAMP. Oons, I won’t believe it; let me see him, sir. Mad—I’ll make him find his senses. JERE. Mr. Scandal is with him, sir; I’ll knock at the door. [_Goes to the scene_, _which opens_.] SCENE VI. SIR SAMPSON, VALENTINE, SCANDAL, JEREMY, _and_ LAWYER. VALENTINE _upon a couch disorderly dressed_. SIR SAMP. How now, what’s here to do? VAL. Ha! Who’s that? [_Starting_.] SCAN. For heav’n’s sake softly, sir, and gently; don’t provoke him. VAL. Answer me: who is that, and that? SIR SAMP. Gads bobs, does he not know me? Is he mischievous? I’ll speak gently. Val, Val, dost thou not know me, boy? Not know thy own father, Val? I am thy own father, and this is honest Brief Buckram, the lawyer. VAL. It may be so—I did not know you—the world is full. There are people that we do know, and people that we do not know, and yet the sun shines upon all alike. There are fathers that have many children, and there are children that have many fathers. ’Tis strange! But I am Truth, and come to give the world the lie. SIR SAMP. Body o’ me, I know not what to say to him. VAL. Why does that lawyer wear black? Does he carry his conscience withoutside? Lawyer what art thou? Dost thou know me? BUCK. O Lord, what must I say? Yes, sir, VAL. Thou liest, for I am Truth. ’Tis hard I cannot get a livelihood amongst you. I have been sworn out of Westminster Hall the first day of every term—let me see—no matter how long. But I’ll tell you one thing: it’s a question that would puzzle an arithmetician, if you should ask him, whether the Bible saves more souls in Westminster Abbey, or damns more in Westminster Hall. For my part, I am Truth, and can’t tell; I have very few acquaintance. SIR SAMP. Body o’ me, he talks sensibly in his madness. Has he no intervals? JERE. Very short, sir.