Sir Jol. In truth, and would he had! but we are all mortal, neighbour, all mortal; to-day we are here, to-morrow gone; like the shadow that vanisheth, like the grass that withereth, or like the flower that fadeth; or indeed like anything, or rather like nothing: but we are all mortal.
Sir Dav. Heigh!
L. Dunce. Down, down that trap-door, it goes into a bathing-room; for the rest, leave it to my conduct.
[Beaugard descends.
Sir Jol. 'Tis very unfortunate that you should run yourself into this premunire,[53] Sir Davy.
Sir Dav. Indeed, and so it is.
Sir Jol. For a gentleman, a man in authority, a person in years, one that used to go to church with his neighbours.
Sir Dav. Every Sunday truly, Sir Jolly.
Sir Jol. Pay scot and lot to the parish.
Sir Dav. Six pounds a year to the very poor, without abatement or deduction: 'tis very hard if so good a commonwealth's-man should be brought to ride in a cart at last, and be hanged in a sunshiny morning to make butchers and suburb apprentices a holiday; I'll e'en run away.