First my fear; then my courtesy; last my speech.
	My fear is, your displeasure; my courtesy, my duty;
	and my speech, to beg your pardons. If you look
	for a good speech now, you undo me: for what I have
	to say is of mine own making; and what indeed I
	should say will, I doubt, prove mine own marring.
	But to the purpose, and so to the venture. Be it
	known to you, as it is very well, I was lately here
	in the end of a displeasing play, to pray your
	patience for it and to promise you a better. I
	meant indeed to pay you with this; which, if like an
	ill venture it come unluckily home, I break, and
	you, my gentle creditors, lose. Here I promised you
	I would be and here I commit my body to your
	mercies: bate me some and I will pay you some and,
	as most debtors do, promise you infinitely.

	If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will
	you command me to use my legs? and yet that were but
	light payment, to dance out of your debt. But a
	good conscience will make any possible satisfaction,
	and so would I. All the gentlewomen here have
	forgiven me: if the gentlemen will not, then the
	gentlemen do not agree with the gentlewomen, which
	was never seen before in such an assembly.

	One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too
	much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author will
	continue the story, with Sir John in it, and make
	you merry with fair Katharine of France: where, for
	any thing I know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat,
	unless already a' be killed with your hard
	opinions; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is
	not the man. My tongue is weary; when my legs are
	too, I will bid you good night: and so kneel down
	before you; but, indeed, to pray for the queen.