"I am bound to the printer by an oath.
Besides, I know not yet what your service is." "My service," said he, "is to be free, and to put wrong right." "'Tis a noble service," said I, "but it fills no stomachs." "You 'prentices are all stomach," said he, sadly.

"But 'tis always so.
No man that ever I met believed in me yet.

I must fight my battles alone." This cut me to the quick.
"Not so," said I.

"Last night I swore to be your friend.

It was a mad oath, I know; but you shall see if I do not observe it.