Young Lo. Out with it i' Gods name.
Elder Lo. All I desire Sir is, the patience and sufferance of a man, and good Sir be not mov'd more.
Young Lo. Then a pottle of sack will doe, here's my hand, prethee thy business?
Elder Lo. Good Sir excuse me, and whatsoever you hear, think must have been known unto you, and be your self discreet, and bear it nobly.
Young Lo. Prethee dispatch me.
Elder Lo. Your Brother's dead Sir.
Young Lo. Thou dost not mean dead drunk?
Elder Lo. No, no, dead and drown'd at sea Sir.
Young Lo. Art sure he's dead?
Elder Lo. Too sure Sir.