Good gods!

If I might beseech you, gentlemen, to repair some
other hour, I should derive much from't; for,
take't of my soul, my lord leans wondrously to
discontent: his comfortable temper has forsook him;
he's much out of health, and keeps his chamber.

Yes, sir, I shall.

Upon my soul,'tis true, sir.

But in the mean time he wants less, my lord.
If his occasion were not virtuous,
I should not urge it half so faithfully.

Has only sent his present occasion now, my lord;
requesting your lordship to supply his instant use
with so many talents.

May it please your honour, my lord hath sent--

See, by good hap, yonder's my lord;
I have sweat to see his honour. My honoured lord,--