WILLIAM. Marry, sir, what reason had you, when my sister was in the barn, to tumble her upon the hay, and to fish her belly. STRUMBO. Mass, thou saist true. Well, but would you have me marry her therefore? No, I scorn her, and you. Aye, I scorn you all. OLIVER. You will not have her then? STRUMBO. No, as I am a true gentleman. WILLIAM. Then will we school you, ere you and we part hence. They fight. Enter Margery and snatch the staff out of her brother’s hand, as he is fighting. STRUMBO. Aye, you come in pudding time, or else I had dressed them. MARGERY. You, master saucebox, lobcock, cockscomb, you slopsauce, lickfingers, will you not hear? STRUMBO. Who speak you to? me? MARGERY. Aye, sir, to you, John lackhonesty, little wit. Is it you that will have none of me? STRUMBO. No, by my troth, mistress nicebice. How fine you can nickname me. I think you were brought up in the university of bridewell; you have your rhetoric so ready at your tongue’s end, as if you were never well warned when your were young. MARGERY. Why then, goodman cods-head, if you will have none of me, farewell. STRUMBO. If you be so plain, mistress drigle dragle, fare you well. MARGERY. Nay, master Strumbo, ere you go from hence, we must have more words. You will have none of me? [_They both fight._] STRUMBO. Oh my head, my head! leave, leave, leave! I will, I will, I will! MARGERY. Upon that condition I let thee alone. OLIVER. How now, master Strumbo? hath my daughter taught you a new lesson? STRUMBO. Aye, but hear you, goodman Oliver; it will not be for my ease to have my head broken every day; therefore remedy this and we shall agree. OLIVER. Well, zon, well—for you are my zon now—all shall be remedied. Daughter, be friends with him. [_Shake hands. Exeunt Oliver, William and Margery._] STRUMBO. You are a sweet nut! The devil crack you. Masters, I think it be my luck; my first wife was a loving quiet wench, but this, I think, would weary the devil. I would she might be burnt as my other wife was. If not, I must run to the halter for help. O codpiece, thou hast done thy master! this it is to be meddling with warm plackets. [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. The camp of Locrine Enter Locrine, Camber, Corineus, Thrasimachus, Assarachus.