And pluck up drowned honour by the locks;
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear
Without corrival all her dignities:
But out upon this half-faced fellowship!

WOR.
He apprehends a world of figures here,
But not the form of what he should attend.--
Good cousin, give me audience for a while.

HOT.
I cry you mercy.

WOR.
Those same noble Scots
That are your prisoners,--

HOT.
I'll keep them all;
By God, he shall not have a Scot of them;
No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not:
I'll keep them, by this hand.

WOR.
You start away,
And lend no ear unto my purposes.
Those prisoners you shall keep;--

HOT.
Nay, I will; that's flat.