Scriuener. Ye red it not as ye ought.

R. Royster. Why thou wretched villaine was all this same fault in thee?

M. Mery. I knocke your costarde if ye offer to strike me.

R. Royster. Strikest thou in deede? and I offer but in iest?

M. Mery. Yea and rappe you againe except ye can sit in rest.

And I will no longer tarie here me beleue.

R. Royster. What wilt thou be angry, and I do thee forgeue?

Fare thou well scribler, I crie thee mercie in deede.

Scriuener. Fare ye well bibbler, and worthily may ye speede.

R. Royster. If it were an other but thou, it were a knaue.