Jaq. More, more, I prithee, more.
010 Ami. It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques.
[011] Jaq. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more.
[014] Ami. My voice is ragged: I know I cannot please you.
015 Jaq. I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to [016] sing. Come, more; another stanzo: call you ’em stanzos?
Ami. What you will, Monsieur Jaques.
[018] Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing. Will you sing?
020 Ami. More at your request than to please myself.
Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I’ll thank [022] you; but that they call compliment is like the encounter of two dog-apes, and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me the 025 beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.
Ami. Well, I’ll end the song. Sirs, cover the while; [028] the Duke will drink under this tree. He hath been all this day to look you.