from much grief, from study and perturbation of the brain: I have read the cause of his effects in Galen: it is a kind of deafness. I think you are fallen into the disease; for you hear not what I say to you. Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an't please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. To punish you by the heels would amend the attention of your ears; and I care not if I do become your physician. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient: your lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me in respect of poverty; but how should I be your patient to follow your prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or indeed a scruple itself. I sent for you, when there were matters against you for your life, to come speak with me. As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great infamy. He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in less. Your means are very slender, and your waste is great. I would it were otherwise; I would my means were greater, and my waist slenderer. You have misled the youthful prince. The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound: your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night's exploit on Gad's-hill: you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er-posting that action. My lord? But since all is well, keep it so: wake not a sleeping wolf. To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox. What! you are as a candle, the better part burnt out. A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow: if I did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. There is not a white hair on your face but should have his effect of gravity. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. You follow the young prince up and down, like his ill angel. Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light; but I hope he that looks upon me will take me without weighing: and yet, in some respects, I grant, I cannot go: I cannot tell. Virtue is of so little regard in these costermonger times that true valour is turned bear-herd: pregnancy is made a tapster, and