JAILER.
No, but from this place to remove your lordship;
The windows are too open.
PALAMON.
Devils take ’em,
That are so envious to me! Prithee, kill me.
JAILER.
And hang for’t afterward!
PALAMON.
By this good light,
Had I a sword I would kill thee.
JAILER.
Why, my Lord?
PALAMON.
Thou bringst such pelting, scurvy news continually,
Thou art not worthy life. I will not go.
JAILER.
Indeed, you must, my lord.
PALAMON.
May I see the garden?
JAILER.
No.
PALAMON.
Then I am resolved, I will not go.