Phi. Are you at peace?
Are. With Heavens and Earth.
Phi. May they divide thy soul and body?
Coun. Hold dastard, strike a Woman! th'art a craven I warrant thee, thou wouldst be loth to play half a dozen of venies at wasters with a good fellow for a broken head.
Phi. Leave us good friend.
Are. What ill bred man art thou, to intrude thy self
Upon our private sports, our recreations?
Coun. God 'uds, I understand you not, but I know the
Rogue has hurt you.
Phi. Pursue thy own affairs: it will be ill To multiply bloud upon my head; which thou wilt force me to.
Coun. I know not your Rhetorick, but I can lay it on if you touch the woman.
[They fight.