That you talk no more so broad of my master as here you have done.
But who have we here? ’tis Coals I spy[92] coming yonder.
Jack. Will, let us slip aside and view him well.
Here entereth Grim the Collier, whistling.
Grim. What devil! ich ween the porters are drunk, will they not dup[93] the gate to-day?
[To] take in coals for the king’s own mouth;[94] will nobody stir, I say?
Ich might have lain tway hours longer in my bed,
Cha tarried so long here, that my teeth chatter in my head.
Jack. Will, after our falling out wilt thou laugh merrily?
Will. Ay, marry, Jack, I pray thee heartily.