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There might, indeed, be found beneath your roof
Those who might reckon years fourscore and odds,
But of old folks, I warrant, ne'er a soul.
No; we were all young then.

ARGYLL, (sighing deeply.)

'Tis true indeed,

It was even as thou say'st. Our earthly joys
Fly like the blossoms scattered by the wind.

Enter a Servant.

SERVANT.

Please you, my lord;———

Some score of vassals in the hall attend
To bid good morrow to you, and the hour
Wears late: the chamberlain hath bid me say
He will dismiss them, if it please your honour.

ARGYLL.

Nay, many a mile have some of them, I know,

With suit or purpose lurking in their minds,
Rode o'er rough paths to see me; disappointed
Shall none of them return.—I'm better now.
I have been rather weary than unwell.
Say, I will see them presently.(Exit Servant.)