R. Roister. None.
M. Merry. Dirige. He will go darkling to his grave:
Neque lux, neque crux, neque mourners, neque clink,
He will steal to heaven, unknowing to God, I think,
A porta inferi. Who shall your goods possess?
R. Roister. Thou shalt be my sector,[113] and have all, more or less.
M. Merry. Requiem æternam. Now, God reward your mastership,
And I will cry halfpenny-dole for your worship,
Come forth, sirs; hear the doleful news I shall you tell.
[Evocat servos milites.