THE BEEFEATER. Making sonnets by moonlight. And to the same lady too.
THE MAN. No!
THE BEEFEATER. Last night he stood here on your errand, and in your shoes.
THE MAN. Thou, too, Brutus! And I called him friend!
THE BEEFEATER. Tis ever so, sir.
THE MAN. Tis ever so. Twas ever so. [He turns away, overcome]. Two Gentlemen of Verona! Judas! Judas!!
THE BEEFEATER. Is he so bad as that, sir?
THE MAN. [recovering his charity and self-possession] Bad? Oh no. Human, Master Warder, human. We call one another names when we are offended, as children do. That is all.
THE BEEFEATER. Ay, sir: words, words, words. Mere wind, sir. We fill our bellies with the east wind, sir, as the Scripture hath it. You cannot feed capons so.
THE MAN. A good cadence. By your leave [He makes a note of it].