_Tuc._ My noble swaggerer, I wil not fall out with thee, I cannot |1555| my mad Cumrade, finde in my heart to shed thy bloud. _Sir Vau._ Cumrade? by Sesu call me Cumrade againe, and Ile Cumrade ye about the sinnes and shoulders; ownds, what come you to smell out heere? did you not dine and feede horribly well to day at dinner, but you come to munch heere, and giue vs |1560| winter-plummes? I pray depart, goe marse, marse, marse out a doores. _Tuc._ Adew Sir Eglamour, adew Lute-stringe, Curtin-rod, Goose-quill; heere, giue that full-nos’d Skinker, these rimes; & harke, Ile tagge my Codpeece point with thy legs, spout-pot Ile |1565| empty thee. _Asin._ Dost threaten mee? Gods lid Ile binde thee to the good forbearing. _Sir Vau._ Will you amble Hobby-horse, will you trot and amble? |1570| _Tuc._ Raw Artichocke I shall sauce thee. _Exit._ _Min._ I pray you Master Tucca, will you send me the fiue pound you borrowed on me; O you cannot heare now, but Ile make you heare me and feele me too in another place, to your shame I warrant you, thou shalt not conny-catch mee for fiue pounds; |1575| he tooke it vp Sir Vaughan in your name, hee swore you sent for it to Mum withall, twas fiue pound in gold, as white as my kercher. _Sir Vaughan._ Ownds, fiue pound in my name to Mum about withall. |1580| _Min._ I, to Mum withall, but hee playes mum-budget with me. _Sir Vau._ Peter Salamander, tye vp your great and your little sword, by Sesu Ile goe sing him while tis hot. Ile beate fiue pound out of his leather pilch: Master Horace, let your wittes inhabite in your right places; if I fall hansomely vpon the Widdow, |1585| I haue some cossens Garman at Court, shall beget you the reuersion of the Master of the Kings Reuels, or else be his Lord of Mis-rule nowe at Christmas: Come Ladyes, whoreson Stragling Captaine, Ile pound him. _Exeunt._ _Manet_ Horace _and_ Asinius. |1590| _Hor._ How now? what ail’st thou, that thou look’st so pale. _Asin._ Nay nothing, but I am afraide the Welsh Knight has giuen me nothing but purging Comfits: this Captaine stickes pockily in my stomack; read this scroule, he saies they’r rimes, and bid me giue them you. |1595| _Hor._ Rimes? tis a challenge sent to you. _Asin._ To me? _Hor._ He saies heere you divulg’d my Epigrams. _Asin._ And for that dares he challenge me? _Hor._ You see he dares, but dare you answer him? |1600| _Asin._ I dare answer his challenge, by word of mouth, or by writing, but I scorne to meete him, I hope he and I are not Paralels. _Hor._ Deere Bubo, thou shalt answere him; our credites Lye pawn’d vpon thy resolution, |1605| Thy vallor must redeeme them; charge thy spirits, To waite more close, and neere thee: if he kill thee, Ile not suruiue; into one Lottery We’ll cast our fates; together liue and dye.