You well-fed and unprofitable grooms, Maintain'd for state, not use; You lazy feasters at another's cost, That eat like maggots into an estate, And do as little work.
Being indeed but foul excrescences, And no just parts in a well-order'd family; You base and rascal imitators, Who act up to the height your master's vices, But cannot read his virtues in your bond: Which of you, as I enter'd, spake of betraying?
Was it you, or you, or thin-face, was it you?
_Mar_.

Whom does he call thin-face?
_Sand_.

No prating, loon, but tell me who he was, That I may brain the villain with my staff, That seeks Sir Walter's life! You miserable men, With minds more slavish than your slave's estate, Have you that noble bounty so forgot, Which took you from the looms, and from the ploughs, Which better had ye follow'd, fed ye, clothed ye, And entertain'd ye in a worthy service, Where your best wages was the world's repute, That thus ye seek his life, by whom ye live.
Have you forgot, too, How often in old times Your drunken mirths have stunn'd day's sober ears, Carousing full cups to Sir Walter's health ?-- Whom now ye would betray, but that he lies Out of the reach of your poor treacheries.
This learn from me, Our master's secret sleeps with trustier tongues, Than will unlock themselves to carls like you.
Go, get you gone, you knaves.

Who stirs?
this staff Shall teach you better manners else.
_All_.

Well, we are going.
_Sand_.