You are too patient in wrongs, sir.--Zoundes I know not how to
picke a quarrell.
_Serv_. Sir, the grievous youth is inwardlye possest of a supple spirit,
he can brooke impugnying, but tis adverse to my spirit if I were armed.
_Enter Accutus_.
_Accut_. Save ye, gallants, sawe ye not a fellowe come halting this way
of late?
_Scil_. Hath he done any hurt, or is hee a friend of yours?
_Acut_. Hee's a Rascall and ile maintaine him so.
_Scil_. Hee's a verie Rascall indeede, and he used mee like a knave: if
ere I meete him, I shall hardly put it up; I have it in blacke and blue
to shew heere.
_Serv_. Say, I breath defyance to his front.
_Acut_. Challenge him the field.
_Scil_. Doos't thinke heele answere me? I'l challenge him at the
pich-fork, or the Flaile, or ile wrastle a fall with him for a bloody
nose; anye weapon I have bene brought up in ile--
_Accut_. What will ye? heere he is, you minime, that will be friend with
friends and foe with foes; and you that will defie _Hercules_, and
out-brave _Mars_ and feares not the Devil; passe, bladder, ile make ye
swell.
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