NYM.
Well, then, that's the humour of't.
[Re-enter Hostess.]
HOSTESS.
As ever you come of women, come in quickly to Sir John.
Ah, poor heart! he is so shak'd of a burning quotidian tertian,
that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him.
NYM.
The King hath run bad humours on the knight; that's the even
of it.
PISTOL.
Nym, thou hast spoke the right.
His heart is fracted and corroborate.
NYM.
The King is a good king; but it must be as it may; he
passes some humours and careers.
PISTOL.
Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins, we will live.
[Exeunt.]
