475 And laugh upon the apple of her eye?
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire,
Holding a trencher, jesting merrily?
[478] You put our page out: go, you are allow’d;
Die when you will, a smock shall be your shroud.
480 You leer upon me, do you? there’s an eye
[481] Wounds like a leaden sword.
Boyet.
Full merrily
[482] Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.