Before God, I am exceeding weary.
Edward Poins. Is't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not
attach'd one of so high blood.
Faith, it does me; though it discolours the complexion
my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me
desire small beer?
Edward Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as to remember so weak a composition.
Belike then my appetite was not-princely got; for, by troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer. But
indeed these humble considerations make me out of love with
greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy name,
to know thy face to-morrow, or to take note how many pair of
stockings thou hast—viz., these, and those that were thy
peach-colour'd ones—or to bear the inventory of thy shirts-
one for superfluity, and another for use! But that the
tennis-court-keeper knows better than I; for it is a low ebb
linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou
not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countries
have made a shift to eat up thy holland. And God knows
those that bawl out of the ruins of thy linen shall inherit
kingdom; but the midwives say the children are not in the
whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened.