“I forgive you, gentlemen,” said Jack; “you have had some reason to doubt my courage. I think I have an opportunity of proving it. This noisy fellow offends me; you shall see me thrash him.”
“What—Skogan—the cudgeller—Jack?” gasped Shallow, in delighted astonishment.
“Pray you, some of you ask him to read his verses. I will find fault with them.”
“Said I not—said I not?” said Shallow, in ecstasies.
One Master Thomas Doit, a law student, of Staffordshire, stepped forward, and in respectful tones begged the poet to favour him with a hearing of his verses.
The poet required no second bidding. Tucking his cudgel under his arm, he cleared his voice and began—
“Oh, royal Edmund, son of Edward Third,——”
“You lie.” said Jack, “he’s the fourth son.”
“Who spoke?”
“I did.”