You do within there.

Dav. ⁠Who, me?

Sim. ⁠Ay, you.

Dav. Who, I?

Sim. ⁠You, you I say.

Dav. ⁠A moment since,
Only, did I come here.

Sim. I did not ask you when,
But wherefore?

Dav. ⁠With your son.

Sim. ⁠What doth he there?
I am on thorns. Did you not tell me, sirrah,
That they had quarrelled?

Dav. ⁠Ay, that was so.

Sim. Well, then, what doth he there?

Chr. [With irony.] ⁠What doth he there?
He quarrels with her.

Dav. ⁠More, O Chremes! more,
An insolence unheard of. An old man,
Who or from whence I know not; an old man,
With a front bold and sly, who seems to think
Well of himself—with face of formal cut,
And words of candour.

Sim. ⁠Well, what stuff is this!

Dav. Nought; save for what he said.

Sim. ⁠What did he say?

Dav. Glycerium is an Attic citizen.

Sim. Hey, Dromo! Dromo!

Dav. ⁠What's the matter now?

Sim. Dromo!

Dav. ⁠Hear!