M. MERRY. But the gentman had rather spent five thousand pound; For it disgraced him at least five times as much. [_Enter_ SCRIVENER _at one side_.] SCRIVENER. He disgraced himself, his loutishness is such. R. ROISTER. How long they stand prating. (_To Merry._) Why com'st thou not away? M. MERRY. (_to Scriv._) Come now to himself, and hark what he will say. SCRIVENER. I am not afraid in his presence to appear. R ROISTER. Art thou come, fellow? SCRIVENER. How think you? Am I not here? R. ROISTER. What hindrance hast thou done me, and what villainy! SCRIVENER. It hath come of thyself, if thou hast had any. R. ROISTER. All the stock thou comest of, later or rather,[132] From thy first father's grandfather's father's father, Nor all that shall come of thee, to the world's end, Though to three score generations they descend, Can be able to make a just recompense For this trespass of thine and this one offence. SCRIVENER. Wherein? R. ROISTER. Did not you make me a letter, brother? SCRIVENER. Pay the like hire, I will make you such an other. R. Roister. Nay, see, and these whoreson Pharisees and Scribes Do not get their living by polling[133] and bribes. If it were not for shame---- M. MERRY. Nay, hold thy hands still.[134] Why, did ye not promise that ye would not him spill?[135] SCRIVENER. Let him not spare me. R. ROISTER. Why, wilt thou strike me again? SCRIVENER. Ye shall have as good as ye bring of me, that is plain. M. MERRY. I cannot blame him, sir, though your blows would him grieve; For he knoweth present death to ensue of all ye give. R. ROISTER. Well, this man for once hath purchased thy pardon. SCRIVENER. And what say ye to me? or else I will be gone. R. Roister. I say, the letter thou madest me was not good. SCRIVENER. Then did ye wrong copy it, of likelihood. R. ROISTER. Yes, out of thy copy, word for word, I it wrote. SCRIVENER. Then was it as you prayed to have it, I wot: But in reading and pointing there was made some fault. R. ROISTER. I wot not; but it made all my matter to halt. SCRIVENER. How say you, is this mine original, or no? R. ROISTER. The self same that I wrote out of, so mot I go. SCRIVENER. Look you on your own fist, and I will look on this. And let this man be judge, whether I read amiss. _To mine own dear coney, bird, sweetheart, and pigsny, Good Mistress Custance, present these by and by._ How now? doth not this superscription agree? R. ROISTER. Read that is within, and there ye shall the fault see. SCRIVENER.