PEPE. Truth is always so.
LANCIOTTO. I shook you rudely; here's a florin.
[Offers money.
PEPE. No:
My wit is merchandise, but not my honour.
LANCIOTTO. Your honour, sirrah!
PEPE. Why not? You great lords
Have something you call lordly honour; pray,
May not a fool have foolish honour, too?
Cousin, you laid your hand upon my coat—
'Twas the first sacrilege it ever knew—And
you shall pay it. Mark! I promise you.
LANCIOTTO. [Laughing.] Ha, ha! you bluster well. Upon my life,
You have the tilt-yard jargon to a breath.
Pepe, if I should smite you on the cheek—
Thus, gossip, thus—[Strikes him.] what would you then demand?
PEPE. Your life!
LANCIOTTO. [Laughing.] Ha, ha! there is the camp-style, too,
A very cut-throat air! How this shrewd fool
Makes the punctilio of honour show!
Change helmets into coxcombs, swords to baubles,
And what a figure is poor chivalry!
Thanks for your lesson, Pepe.
[Exit.
PEPE. Ere I'm done,
You'll curse as heartily, you limping beast!
Ha! so we go—Lord Lanciotto, look!
[Walks about, mimicking him.]
Here is a leg and camel-back, forsooth,
To match your honour and nobility!
You miscreated scarecrow, dare you shake,
Or strike in jest, a natural man like me?—
You curséd lump, you chaos of a man,
To buffet one whom Heaven pronounces good!
[Bells ring.]
There go the bells rejoicing over you:
I'll change them back to the old knell again.
You marry, faugh! Beget a race of elves;
Wed a she-crocodile, and keep within
The limits of your nature! Here we go,
Tripping along to meet our promised bride,
Like a rheumatic elephant!—ha, ha! [Laughing.
[Exit, mimicking LANCIOTTO.