Put me in some little doubt thou do'st not love me.
Wilt thou doe one thing therefore now sincerely?[410]
Buss. I, any thing—but killing of the King.
Mons. Still in that discord, and ill taken note?
How most unseasonable thou playest the cucko,
In this thy fall of friendship!
Buss. Then doe not doubt
That there is any act within my nerves,[415]
But killing of the King, that is not yours.