Of that alone which made life worth retaining.
Yes, thou art now, alas! become a flower,
That, by the radiance of the sun, is parch’d,
And, lacking drops of succour, droops and dies.
Enter Fool, whimsically attired, with his bells and ladle.
Pas. Whither so fast, good Fool?
Fool. Good Fool, say’st thou! Marry, these are sweet words, that do not often fall to our lot; but let me tell you, good master, fools have excellent wits, and those that ha’ none will gladly go flatter, lest the fool’s folly should make them still more foolish.
Pas. But, prithee, tell us what is thine affair?
Fool. Oh! my affair is weighty indeed, being burthened with the speech o’ royalty.
Pas. And wherefore so!