That I robb’d him—“Well done, in troth.”—
When h’ has confessed he stole my cloak,
And pick’d my fob, and what he took,
Which was the cause that made me bang him
And take my goods again—“Marry, hang him.”
——“Sir,” quoth the lawyer, “not to flatter ye,
You have as good and fair a battery
As heart can wish, and need not shame
The proudest man alive to claim:
For if they’ve us’d you as you say;