My Lord of Lorrain, wilt please you draw near?

How now! Who's that which spake?—Friars, look about.

My lord, here is a dainty dish was sent me from the Bishop of Milan.

How now! Who's that which snatched the meat from me? Will no man look? My Lord, this dish was sent me from the Cardinal of Florence.

What, again! My lord, I'll drink to your grace.

It may be so. Friars, prepare a dirge to lay the fury of this ghost. Once again, my lord, fall to.