Dagonet. He who cometh to the wall hath crossed the last ditch.
Arthur. Thine is but grim comfort, Fool.
Dagonet. Then is it thine, King, and he who garners not i’ the morning
Can laugh with death.
Arthur. Indeed thou art over-weird,
Come, play me a masque.
Dagonet. A masque, Sire! Should it be merry?
Arthur. Aye, merry, or thou ruest it!
Dagonet. Here be a comedy, Sire;—
There be a king, Sire;—