Dil. Better nay, Study? Why should we fray?
Study. For I am weary; my head acheth sore.
[The last three lines are, in the manuscript, scored through.]
Dil. Why, foolish Study! thou shalt do no more
But aid my master with thy presence.
Wit. No more shalt thou neither, Diligence!
Aid me with your presence, both you twain;
And, for my love, myself shall take pain!
Study. Sir! we be ready to aid you so.
Wit. I ask no more, Study! Come then, go!
[Tediousness riseth up.
[Ted.] Why, art thou come?
Wit. Yea, wretch, to thy pain!