His death for to pursue.
[Exit.
Ambidexter.
Are ye gone? straightway I will follow you.
How like ye now, my masters? doth not this gear cotton?
The proverb old is verified, soon ripe and soon rotten.
He will not be quiet, till his brother he kill’d:
His delight is wholly to have his blood spill’d.
Marry, sir, I told him a notable lie:
If it were to do again, man, I durst do it, I.