R. ROISTER. Tush, speak, man. Yea or nay? M. MERRY. Forsooth, sir, I have spoken for you all that I can; But if ye win her, ye must e'en play the man: E'en to fight it out ye must a man's heart take. R. ROISTER. Yes, they shall know, as[156] thou knowest, I have a stomach. M. MERRY. A stomach (quod you), yea, as good as e'er man had. R. ROISTER. I trow, they shall find and feel that I am a lad. M. MERRY. By this cross, I have seen you eat your meat as well As any that e'er I have seen of, or heard tell. A stomach, quod you? He that will that deny, I know was never at dinner in your company. R. ROISTER. Nay, the stomach of a man it is, that I mean. M. MERRY. Nay, the stomach of an horse or a dog, I ween. R. ROISTER. Nay, a man's stomach with a weapon, mean I. M. MERRY. Ten men can scarce match you with a spoon in a pie. R. ROISTER. Nay, the stomach of a man to try in strife. M. MERRY. I never saw your stomach cloyed yet in my life. R. ROISTER. Tush, I mean in strife or fighting to try. M. MERRY. We shall see how ye will strike now, being angry. R. ROISTER. Have at thy pate then, and save thy head, if thou may. M. MERRY. Nay, then, have at your pate again, by this day. R. ROISTER. Nay, thou mayest not strike at me again in no wise. M. MERRY. I cannot in fight make to you such warrantise: But as for your foes here let them the bargain[157] by. R. ROISTER. Nay, as for [that,] they shall every mother's child die. And in this my fume a little thing might make me To beat down house and all, and else the devil take me. M. MERRY. If I were as ye be, by Gog's dear mother, I would not leave one stone upon another. Though she would redeem it with twenty thousand pounds. R. ROISTER. It shall be even so, by his lily wounds! M. MERRY. Be not at one with her[158] upon any amends. R. ROISTER. No, though she make to me never so many friends. Not if all the world for her would undertake: No, not God himself neither shall not her peace make. On therefore, march forward! Soft, stay a while yet. M. MERRY. On! R. ROISTER. Tarry. M. MERRY. Forth! R. ROISTER. Back. M. MERRY. On! R. ROISTER. Soft. Now forward set. _Enter_ C. CUSTANCE. C. CUSTANCE. What business have we here? Out, alas, alas! R. ROISTER. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Didst thou see that, Merrygreek, how afraid she was? Didst thou see how she fled apace out of my sight? Ah, good sweet Custance! I pity her, by this light. M. MERRY. That tender heart of yours will mar altogether; Thus will ye be turned with wagging of a feather. R. ROISTER. On, sirs, keep your 'ray. M. MERRY. On forth, while this gear is hot. R. ROISTER. Soft, the Arms of Calais, I have one thing forgot. M. MERRY. What lack we now? R. ROISTER. Retire, or else we be all slain.