T. (singing). What dead, my dearie?
Oh no, my dearie.
N. What is this nonsense, Tristram?
T. When I meet with a poet, St. Nicholas, I can 2430 speak poetry.
N. I came to see your master, Tristram; and you said he was dead.
T. I said he was no more, not that he was dead: and, as I say, he is no more my master. I am, as ’twere, a gentleman at large; and I sit here by invitation, engaged on my own affairs, which do not need assistance.
N. I came to see your master on important business, Tristram. Be civil enough to tell me where he is.
T. My master is nowhere. This was twenty-six.
N. I shall wait for him here.
T. Well, if you choose to wait, I know what you come after. ’Tis not the sonnet.
N. When will Frederick be back, Tristram?