My good Lord I will not, your Lordship is mistaken,
Feare not Lord.
Bac.
Sir I am sorrie fort.
Bes.
I can aske no more in honor, Gentlemen you heare my Lord is sorrie.
Bac.
Not that I have beaten you, but beaten one that will be beaten: one whose dull bodie will require launcing: As surfeits doe the diet, spring and full. Now to your swordmen, what come they for good Captaine Stock-fish?
Bes.
It seemes your Lordship has forgot my name.
Bac.