Fal.

What time of day is it, Bardolph?

Bar.

Almost eleven, Sir John.

Fal.

Then have I taken two sound naps of eight hours a-piece. How is it with Pistol to day?

Bar.

Why, he's in a bad way, Sir John.

Fal.

That all!—when was he otherwise? who ever knew Pistol or thee in a good way?

Bar.

And yet, Sir John, we are your followers, you know.

Fal.

Well said, Bardolph.—I see thy wit is improv'd. I lead you the way, it is true; but you follow me, like spaniels, with damnable circumvolutions. But, whom have we here?

Bar.

It is the doctor, Sir John, that has been up to see Pistol.

Fal.

O, doctor Mithridate, the apothecary! a precious rascal!