Gov. My king is master both of that and me.
Tyr. Look on yon face, and tell me what it wants.
Gov. Which? that, sir?
Tyr. That! what wants it?
Gov. Troth, my lord,
Some thousand years' sleep and a marble pillow.
Tyr. What's that? observe it still: all the best arts
Have the most fools and drunkards to their master.
Thy apprehension has too gross a film
To be employed at court; what colour wants she?
Gov. By my troth, all, sir; T see none she has,
Nor none she cares for.
Tyr. I am overmatch'd here. [Aside.
Gov. A lower chamber, with less noise, were kindlier
For her, poor woman, whatsoe'er she was.
Tyr. But how, if we be pleas'd to have it thus,
And thou well-hired to do what we command?
Is not your work for money I