Amid. I run, my lord.
Hip. You run? it is my office.
[They both take it up, and strive for it; HIPPOLITO gets it, and puts it on.
Amid. Look you, my lord, he puts it on so aukwardly; [Crying. The sword does not sit right.
Hip. Why, where's the fault?
Amid. I know not that; but I am sure 'tis wrong.
Gons.The fault is plain, 'tis put on the wrong shoulder.
Hip. That cannot be, I looked on Amideo's, And hung it on that shoulder his is on.
Amid. Then I doubt mine is so.
Gons. It is indeed:
You're both good boys, and both will learn in time.
Hippolito, go you and bring me word,
Whether that lady, we brought in last night,
Be willing to receive a visit from, me.