EEFEATER. You judge too much by the Court, sir. There, indeed,
you may say of frailty that its name is woman.

THE MAN. _[pulling out his tablets again]_ Prithee say that again:
that about frailty: the strain of music.

THE BEEFEATER. What strain of music, sir? I'm no musician, God
knows.

THE MAN. There is music in your soul: many of your degree have it
very notably. _[Writing]_ "Frailty: thy name is woman!"
_[Repeating it affectionately]_ "Thy name is woman."

THE BEEFEATER. Well, sir, it is but four words. Are you a snapper-up
of such unconsidered trifles?

THE MAN. _[eagerly]_ Snapper-up of--_[he gasps]_ Oh! Immortal
phrase! _[He writes it down]._ This man is a greater than I.

THE BEEFEATER. You have my lord Pembroke's trick, sir.

THE MAN. Like enough: he is my near friend. But what call you his
trick?

THE BEEFEATER. Making sonnets by moonlight. And to the same lady
too.

THE MAN. No!

THE BEEFEATER. Last night he stood here on your errand, and in your
shoes.

THE MAN. Thou, too, Brutus! And I called him friend!

THE BEEFEATER. Tis ever so, sir.

THE MAN. Tis ever so. Twas ever so. _[He turns away, overcome]._
Two Gentlemen of Verona! Judas! Judas!!

THE BEEFEATER. Is he so bad as that, sir?

THE MAN. _[recovering his charity and self-possession]_ Bad? Oh no.
Human, Master Warder, human. We call one another names when we are
offended, as children do. That is all.

THE BEEFEATER. Ay, sir: words, words, words. Mere wind, sir. We
fill our bellies with the east wind, sir, as the Scripture hath it.
You cannot feed capons so.

THE MAN. A good cadence. By your leave _[He makes a note of it]._

THE BEEFEATER. What manner of thing is a cadence, sir? I have not
heard of it.

THE MAN. A thing to rule the world with, friend.

THE BEEFEATER. You speak strangely, sir: no offence. But, an't like
you, you are a very civil gentleman; and a poor man feels drawn to
you, you being, as twere, willing to share your thought with him.

THE MAN. Tis my trade. But alas! the world for the most part will
none of my thoughts.

_Lamplight streams from the palace door as it opens from within._

THE BEEFEATER. Here comes your lady, sir. I'll to t'other end of my
ward. You may een take your time about your business: I shall not
return too suddenly unless my sergeant comes prowling round. Tis a
fell sergeant, sir: strict in his arrest. Go'd'en, sir; and