My good Lord, I will not, your Lordship is much mistaken, fear not Lord.
Bac.
Sir, I am sorry for't.
Bes.
I ask no more in honour, Gentlemen you hear my Lord is sorry.
Bac.
Not that I have beaten you, but beaten one that will be beaten: one whose dull body will require a laming, as Surfeits do the diet, spring and fall; now to your Sword-men; what come they for, good Captain Stock-fish?
Bes.
It seems your Lordship has forgot my name.
Bac.