Piso. That's a lye too.
Jac. Well Sir,
Yet I thank fate I have turn'd your points on you,
For which I'le spare ye somewhat, half a beating.
Piso. I'le make you fart fire Captain, by this hand,
And ye provoke, do not provoke I'de wish you.
Jac. How do you like this?
Lod. Sure I am inchanted.
Piso. Stay till I draw.
Jac. Dispatch then, I am angry.
Piso. And thou shalt see how suddenly I'll kill thee.
Jac. Thou darst not draw, ye cold, tame, mangy Cowards,
Ye drunken Rogues, can nothing make you valiant?
Not wine, nor beating?
Lod. If this may be suffer'd,
'Tis very well.