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[1.] Hun.

Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord;

He cried upon it at the merest loss,

And twice to-day pick’d out the dullest scent.

Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord.

Thou art a fool; if Echo were as fleet,

I would esteem him worth a dozen such.

But sup them well, and look unto them all,

To-morrow I intend to hunt again.

[1.] Hun.

I will, my lord.

Lord.

What’s here? One dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?

2. Hun.

He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm’d with ale,

This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.

Lord.

O monstrous beast, how like a swine he lies!

Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!

Sirs, I will practice on this drunken man.

What think you, if he were convey’d to bed,

Wrapp’d in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,

A most delicious banquet by his bed,

And brave attendants near him when he wakes,

Would not the beggar then forget himself?

1. Hun.

Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.

2. Hun.

It would seem strange unto him when he wak’d.