Gau. So, pay, and pleasure paid for, thinks your Grace,
Should never go together?
Gui. How, Sir Gaucelme?
Hurry one's feast down unenjoyingly
At the snatched breathing-intervals of work?
As good you saved it till the dull day's-end
When, stiff and sleepy, appetite is gone.
Eat first, then work upon the strength of food!
Duch. True: you enable me to risk my future,
By giving me a past beyond recall.