Pray, sir, your pardon
Pray, sir, your pardon.
Well, what would you say?
Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss
I am not worthy of the wealth I owe,
Nor dare I say ’tis mine—and yet it is—
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.
What would you have?
Something, and scarce so much; nothing, indeed.
I would not tell you what I would, my lord. Faith, yes:
Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss.
I pray you stay not, but in haste to horse.
I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.—
Where are my other men?—Monsieur, farewell.
Go thou toward home, where I will never come
Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum.—
Away, and for our flight.