Hamlet.
Horatio, I am sorry for this squabble;
I fear 'twill get me in a precious hobble. Enter Osrick.

Osrick. (To Hamlet)
His Majesty hath made a match for you, Sir,
To spar with young Laertes,—a prime bruiser;—
And betted him ten shillings to a crown,
That you, my lord, will give the first knock down.
Laertes is quite ready to set to;
They're all assembled, and but wait for you.

Hamlet.
Lead on: I'll fight him, Sir: I ne'er felt bolder.

Horatio.
I'll be your second.

Osrick.
I, your bottle-holder. [Exeunt.

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