Heres a good cudgell Sir.
Bac.
It comes too late; I am wearie, prethee doe thou beate um.
2.
My Lord this is foule play ifaith, to put a fresh man upon us;
Men, are but men.
Bac.
That jest shall save your bones, up with your rotten regiment, and be gone; I had rather thresh, then be bound to kicke these raskals, till they cride hold: Bessus you may put your hand to them now, and then you are quit. Farewell, as you like this, pray visit mee againe, twill keepe me in good breath.
2.
Has a divellish hard foote, I never felt the like.
1.