Mar. Good Signior, your song.
Bal. Instantly, most unvulgarly, at your service. Truly, here’s the most pathetical rozen. Umh.
[A Song.
Mar. In sooth, most knightly sung, and like Sir Jeffrey.
Bal. Why, look you, lady, I was made a knight only for my voice; and a councillor only for my wit. 51
Mar. I believe it. Good night, gentle sir, good night.
Bal. You will give me leave to take my leave of my mistress, and I will do it most famously in rhyme.
Farewell, adieu! saith thy love true,
As to part loath.
Time bids us part, mine own sweet heart,
God bless us both.
[Exit Balurdo.
Mar. Good night, Nutriche. Pages, leave the room.
The life of night grows short, ’tis almost dead. 60