Pen. Ay, but Sir Abraham is no dreaming knight: in short, he contemns you, he scorns you at his heels.
Abra. By God, so he lies. I have the most ado to forbear, but that I would hear a little more.
Pen. And has sent this halter. You may hang yourself, or you may cut your throat: here's a knife, too.
Wag. Well, I will love him in despite of all,
Howe'er he uses me! 'tis not the shame
Of being examin'd or the fear of whipping——
Pen. Make as if thou wouldst kill thyself.
[Aside.]
Wag. ——should move me, would but he vouchsafe his love.
Bear him this purse, fill'd with my latest breath.
[Blows in it.
I lov'd thee, Abraham Ninny, even in death.
[Offers to stab.
Abra. Hold! hold! thy knight commands thee for to hold.
I sent no halter. Poor soul, how it pants!
Take courage, look up.
Pen. Look, Sir Abraham in person comes to see you.
Wag. O, let me die, then, in his worship's arms!