Gra.  Sirra, stay, ile combat thee in his defence.

Serv.  Sir, be pacifical, the impotent must be lightly regarded.

Grac.  Give me leave Gentlemen, ile follow him.

Scil.  Nay, I pray you be malcontented, I have no great hurt, but in revenge hee’s a rascall for using me so; he may thank God, discretion governed me, tis wel known I have always bene a man of peace; ile not strike yee the least mouse in anger, nor hurt the poorest Conney that goes in the street, for I know of fighting comes quarrelling, of quarrelling comes brawling, and of brawling growes hard words, and as the learned puerelis[259] writes, tis good sleeping in a whole skin.

Grac.  Sir, your discretion shall governe me at this time.  Your name, I pray ye sir?

Scil.  My name is signior Scillicet.

Grac.  Even so sir? nay, sir, I doe not forget your Argument.

    Enter Accutus.

Acut.  Save ye, sir, saw ye not a Gentleman come this way even now, somewhat hurt in one of his Legges?

Scil.  He went by even now, sir; is he a friend of yours?

Acu.  A deare friend, and a propper Gentleman, sir.

Scil.  By the horison hee’s a propper man indeede, he gave me the time of day as he went by, I have a gallon of wine for him at any time.  If ye see anything in me worth Commendations, I pray ye commend me to him.

Acut.  I will sir;—­twere best you gave me good words, but ile trie ye farther yet;—­fare ye well, sir.

Scil.  I pray you remember me to him.—­You see my anger is over already. [Exit[260] Acutus.

Grac.  Would ye not strike him? lets followe.

Scil.  Indeede ye shall not, I hate it.

Ser.  I will not be barren of my armorie, in my future perambulation for the lower element.

Grac.  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—­