Host.

How now, bully Rock? thou'rt a gentleman, cavalerio-justice, I say.

Shal.

I follow, mine host, I follow. Good even, and twenty, good master Page. Master Page, will you go with us? we have sport in hand.

Host.

Tell him, cavaliero-justice; tell him bully Rock.

Shal.

Sir, there is a fray to be fought between Sir Hugh the Welch priest, and Caius the French doctor.

Ford.

Good mine host o'th' garter, a word with you.

Host.

What say'st thou, bully Rock?

Shal.

Will you go with us to behold it? my merry host hath had the measuring of their weapons, and, I think, hath appointed them contrary places; for, believe me, I hear the parson is no jester. Hark, I will tell you what our sport shall be.

Host.

Hast thou no suit against my Knight, my guest-cavalier?

Ford.

None, I protest; but I'll give you a pottle of burnt sack to give me recourse to him, and tell him my name is Brook; only for a jest.

Host.

My hand, bully; thou shalt have egress and regress; said I well? and thy name shall be Brook. It is a merry Knight. Will you go an-heirs?

Shal.

Have with you, mine host.

Page.

I have heard the Frenchman hath good skill in his rapier.

Shal.

Tut, Sir, I could have told you more; in these times you stand on distance, your passes, stoccado's, and I know not what: 'tis the heart, master Page; 'tis here, 'tis here. I have seen the time, with my long sword, I would have made you four tall fellows skip like rats.

Host.

Here boys, here, here: shall we wag?

Page.

Have with you; I had rather hear them scold than fight.