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Caius. Diable! Jack Rugby—mine host de Jarteer—have I not stay for him to kill him? Have I not, at de place I did appoint?

Evans. As I am a Christians-soul, now look you; this is the place appointed. I’ll be judgment by mine host of the Garter.

Host. Peace, I say, Gallia and Gaul, French and Welsh, soul-curer and body-curer!

Caius. Ay, dat is very good, excellant.

Host. Peace, I say! hear mine host of the Garter. Am I politic? Am I subtle? Am I a Machivel? Shall I lose my doctor? No, he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I lose my parson? my priest? my Sir Hugh? No, he gives me the proverbs and the no-verbs. [Give me thy hand, terrestial; so.] Give me thy hand, celestial; so. Boys of art, I have deceiv’d you both; I have directed you to wrong places. Your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt sack be the issue. Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow me, [lads] of peace; follow, follow, follow.

[Exit.]

Shal. [Afore God], a mad host. Follow, gentlemen, follow.