Bes.
Well again, an't please your Grace: why I was run twice through the body, and shot i'th' head with a cross-arrow, and yet am well again.
Pan.
I do not care how thou do'st, is he well?
Bes.
Not care how I do? Let a man out of the mightiness of his spirit, fructifie Foreign Countries with his blood for the good of his own, and thus he shall be answered: Why I may live to relieve with spear and shield, such a Lady as you distressed.
Pan.
Why, I will care, I'me glad that thou art well, I prethee is he so?
Gob.
The King is well and will be here to morrow.