Merc. By your permission, my lord, it must be dispatched this way.
Grip. I'll see thee hanged before I give thee any such permission, to dispatch me into another world.
Merc. At the least, my lord, you have no occasion to complain of my want of respect to you. You will neither restore the goblet, nor renounce Phædra: I offer you the combat; you refuse it; all this is done in the forms of honour: It follows, that I am to affront, cudgel you, or kick you, at my own arbitrement; and, I suppose, you are too honourable not to approve of my proceeding.
Grip. Here is a new sort of process, that was never heard of in any of our courts.
Merc. This, my good lord, is law in short-hand, without your long preambles, and tedious repetitions that signify nothing but to squeeze the subject: therefore, with your lordship's favour, I begin. [Fillips him under the chin.
Grip. What is this for?
Merc. To give you an occasion of returning me a box o' the ear; that so all things may proceed methodically.
Grip. I put in no answer, but suffer a non-suit.
Merc. No, my lord; for the costs and charges are to be paid: will you please to restore the cup?