1 Lord.

They cannot be too sweet for the King's tartness: here's his lordship now. How now, my lord, is't not after midnight?

Ber.

I have to-night dispatch'd sixteen businesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of success; I have congied with the Duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourn'd for her; writ to my lady mother, I am returning; entertain'd my convoy; and between these main parcels of dispatch,

effected many nicer needs; the last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet.

2 Lord.

If the business be of any difficulty, and this morning your departure hence, it requires haste of your lordship.

Ber.

I mean the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we have this dialogue between the fool and the soldier? come, bring forth this counterfeit module; h'as deceiv'd me, like a double-meaning prophesier.

2 Lord.

Bring him forth; h'as sate in the stocks all night, poor gallant knave.

Ber.

No matter, his heels have deserv'd it in usurping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself?

1 Lord.

I have told your lordship already: the stocks carry him. But to answer you as you would be understood, he weeps like a wench that had shed her milk, he hath confest himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance to this very instant disaster of his setting i'th' stocks; and what think you he hath confest?

Ber.

Nothing of me, has he?

2 Lord.

His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face; if your lordship be in't, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to hear it.