bed. Good Bardolph, put thy face between his sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan. Faith, he's very ill. Away, you rogue! By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of these days. The king has killed his heart. Good husband, come home presently. Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France together: why the devil should we keep knives to cut one another's throats? Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on! You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting? Base is the slave that pays. That now I will have: that's the humour of it. As manhood shall compound: push home. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I'll kill him; by this sword, I will. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends: an thou wilt not, why, then, be enemies with me too. Prithee, put up. I shall have my eight shillings I won of you at betting? A noble shalt thou have, and present pay; And liquor likewise will I give to thee, And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood: I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me; Is not this just? for I shall sutler be Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. Give me thy hand. I shall have my noble? In cash most justly paid. Well, then, that's the humour of't. As ever you came of women, come in quickly to Sir John. Ah, poor heart! he is so shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him. The king hath run bad humours on the knight; that's the even of it. Nym, thou hast spoke the right; His heart is fracted and corroborate. The king is a good king: but it must be as it may; he passes some humours and careers. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins we will live. 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors. They shall be apprehended by and by. How smooth and even they do bear themselves! As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, Crowned with faith and constant loyalty. The king hath note of all that they intend, By interception which they dream not of. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours, That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell His sovereign's life to death and treachery. Now sits the wind fair