Then pay you the price of your surquedry,
With weeping, and wailing, and misery.
CUD. Ah! foolish old man! I scorn thy skill,
That wouldst me my springing youth to spill:
I deem thy brain emperished be
Through rusty eld, that hath rotted thee;
Or sicker thy head very totty is,
So on thy corb shoulder it leans amiss.
Now thyself hath lost both lop and top,
Als my budding branch thou wouldest crop;