—Harkye, go back again and say— Whispers.
Enter Lorenzo drunk.
Lor. Hah, the Prince—he must not see me
In this pickle; for I would not lose my Reputation
Of Wenching for this of Drinking;
And I am sure I cannot be excellent at both,
They are inconsistent.
Gal. I shall, my Lord. Exit.
Lor. Your Highness’s humble Servant.
Fred. Ha, ha, what, Lorenzo in debauch?