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 good
luck! _[He goes]._

THE MAN. "Strict in his arrest"! "Fell sergeant"! _[As if tasting a
ripe plum]_ O-o-o-h! _[He makes a note of them]._