From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that flower,—
Dum.
[647] That mint.
Long.
That columbine.
650 Arm. Sweet Lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.
Long. I must rather give it the rein, for it runs against Hector.
Dum. Ay, and Hector’s a greyhound.
Arm. The sweet war-man is dead and rotten; sweet [653] chucks, beat not the bones of the buried: when he breathed, he was a man. But I will forward with my device. [To the Princess] [655] Sweet royalty, bestow on me the sense of hearing.