Groom. Avaunt, Sir Abbot! Fly!
Abbot. Sir Tristram may be any instant here.
Now, will you go, or must we help you?
Groom. Go?
Go where?
Abbot. To your dressing-room.
Groom. But I am dressed.
Abbot. The last time:—Will you go?
Groom. When I have played
My scene.
Abbot. Quick, men; away with him.
Groom. [Beating them off with his sword] Away
With you. D'ye take me for a property,
Thrice sodden shifters? Abbot—friar John,
Go, mop your tonsure. Skip about! Shift, shift,
Inevitable vermin of the stage!
Abbot. By God, sir, you'll remember this! You cur!