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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,--