[_Exit_ HAVE-AT-ALL.[205] CAS. What, 's he fox'd too? Some drunken planet reigns, And works upon the world. Provide my fancy, Good noble patron; I'll win soberly, I itch till I have beggar'd all the city. [_Exit_ CASTER. HEAR. Till that you have undone yourself, you mean. _Enter_ MOTH. MOTH. Ey save you both; for dern love sayen soothly Where is thylk amebly franklin, cleped Meanwell? HEAR. He's gone abroad. MOTH. Lere me whylk way he wended. SLICER. He is gone o'er the fields. HEAR. To the knight's house. MOTH. Why laugh you every dele? So mote I gone, This goeth not aright; I dread some covin. [_Exit_ MOTH. SLICER. Now will he meet with Have-at-all; there'll be A combat worthy chronicle. Let's go, And see how this grave motion[206] will bestir him. [_Exeunt_. SCENE II. HAVE-AT-ALL: _after a while_, MOTH; SLICER _and_ HEARSAY _watching_. HAVE. What, no man yet march by? Whoe'er comes next, I'll give him one rap more for making me Stay here so long. So, so, here he is; how shall I do to know whe'r he be a gentleman, Or yeoman, or servingman. I think I'd best suppose him all, and beat him through Every degree; and so I shall not wrong him. What? Who goes there? MOTH. Waes-heal,[207] thou gentle knight. HAVE. Waes-heal, thou gentle knight? Speak, what art thou? Speak quickly do. Villain, know'st thou not me? MOTH. Now, by my troth, I know not your name; Whider I shall call you my Lord Dan John, Or Dan Thomas, or Dan Robert, or Dan Albon. I vow to God thou hast a full fair chine. Upon my faith, art some officer. HAVE. Have you the pox, sir? speak. MOTH. No. HAVE. No, nor yet An ache in your bones? MOTH. No. HAVE. No! why then you are No gentleman; Lieutenant Slicer says so. This cudgel then serves turn. MOTH. You will not foin,[208] HAVE. I will not foin, but I will beat you, sir. MOTH. Why intermete[209] of what thou hast to done;[210] So leteth me alone, 't shall be thy best. HAVE. I fanci'd you a beating; you must have it. You shall not say but I will show you favour: Choose whether you will be hacked with my sword, Or bruis'd by my battoon. MOTH. Dre not thy true And poynant[211] morglay[212] out of shete. Lo, thus Eftsoons, sir knight, I greet thee lowting low. HAVE. Down lower yet. MOTH. Reuth[213] on my grey haires. HAVE. Yet lower. So, then, thus I do bestride thee. MOTH. Tubal the sonne of Lamech did yfind Music by knocking hammers upon anviles. Let go thine blows; thylke art is no compleat.[214] HAVE. Dost thou make me a smith, thou rogue? a Tubal? MOTH. Harrow[215] alas! Flet, Englond, flet, Englond! Dead is Edmond.