Mate. Hie thee hence, and thank my mercy,
Or rather drowsiness, that spares ye.
Hence! or I’ll drive you; for no fellow
Shall break my sleep with his vile bellow,
Till this cold pitchy cloud of night
Melt in the warmth of morning light;
That is, till four o’clock, or three, Sir,
What, won’t you go!——Here, Cæsar, Cæsar.
Desunt caetera.
——:o:——