BOB. Hang him, rook! he! why, he has no more judgment than a malt-horse. By St. George, I hold him the most peremptory absurd clown (one a them) in Christendom: I protest to you (as I am a gentleman and a soldier) I ne'er talk'd with the like of him: he has not so much as a good word in his belly, all iron, iron, a good commodity for a smith to make hob-nails on. MAT. Ay, and he thinks to carry it away with his manhood still where he comes: he brags he will give me the bastinado, as I hear. BOB. How, the bastinado? how came he by that word, trow? MAT. Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me; I termed it so for the more grace. BOB. That may be, for I was sure it was none of his word: but when, when said he so? MAT. Faith, yesterday, they say, a young gallant, a friend of mine, told me so. BOB. By the life of Pharaoh, an't were my case now, I should send him a challenge presently: the bastinado! come hither, you shall challenge him; I'll shew you a trick or two, you shall kill him at pleasure, the first stoccado if you will, by this air. MAT. Indeed, you have absolute knowledge in the mystery, I have heard, sir. BOB. Of whom? of whom, I pray? MAT. Faith, I have heard it spoken of divers, that you have very rare skill, sir. BOB. By heaven, no, not I, no skill in the earth: some small science, know my time, distance, or so, I have profest it more for noblemen and gentlemen's use than mine own practise, I assure you. Hostess, lend us another bed-staff here quickly: look you, sir, exalt not your point above this state at any hand, and let your poniard maintain your defence thus: give it the gentleman. So, sir, come on, oh, twine your body more about, that you may come to a more sweet comely gentlemanlike guard; so indifferent. Hollow your body more, sir, thus: now stand fast on your left leg, note your distance, keep your due proportion of time: oh, you disorder your point most vilely. MAT. How is the bearing of it now, sir? BOB. Oh, out of measure ill, a well-experienced man would pass upon you at pleasure. MAT. How mean you pass upon me? BOB. Why, thus, sir: make a thrust at me; come in upon my time; control your point, and make a full career at the body: the best-practis'd gentlemen of the time term it the passado, a most desperate thrust, believe it. MAT. Well, come, sir. BOB. Why, you do not manage your weapons with that facility and grace that you should do, I have no spirit to play with you, your dearth of judgment makes you seem tedious. MAT. But one venue, sir.