Second Ruf. That's all one to me, I care not. Now will I in to my wench, and call for a fresh pot. [Exit: followed by all except Adam.
Adam. Nay, but hear ye, take me with ye, for the ale is ale.—Cut a fresh toast, tapster, fill me a pot; here is money, I am no beggar, I'll follow thee as long as the ale lasts.—A pestilence on the blocks for me, for I might have had a fall: well, if we shall have no ale, I'll sit me down: and so farewell, gentle tapster. [Here he falls over the dead man.
Enter Rasni, Alvida, the King of Cilicia, Lords, and Attendants.
Rasni. What slaughter'd wretch lies bleeding here his last,
So near the royal palace of the king?
Search out if any one be biding nigh,
That can discourse the manner of his death.—
Seat thee, fair Alvida, the fair of fairs;
Let not the object once offend thine eyes.
First Lord. Here's one sits here asleep, my lord.
Rasni. Wake him, and make inquiry of this thing.
First Lord. Sirrah, you! hearest thou, fellow?
Adam. If you will fill a fresh pot, here's a penny, or else farewell, gentle tapster.
First Lord. He is drunk, my lord.
Rasni. We'll sport with him, that Alvida may laugh.