Have. I will not foin, but I will beat you, sir.
Moth. Why intermete[209] of what thou hast to done;[210]
So leteth me alone, 't shall be thy best.
Have. I fanci'd you a beating; you must have it.
You shall not say but I will show you favour:
Choose whether you will be hacked with my sword,
Or bruis'd by my battoon.
Moth. Dre not thy true
And poynant[211] morglay[212] out of shete. Lo, thus
Eftsoons, sir knight, I greet thee lowting low.
Have. Down lower yet.
Moth. Reuth[213] on my grey haires.
Have. Yet lower. So, then, thus I do bestride thee.
Moth. Tubal the sonne of Lamech did yfind
Music by knocking hammers upon anviles.
Let go thine blows; thylke art is no compleat.[214]
Have. Dost thou make me a smith, thou rogue? a Tubal?
Moth. Harrow[215] alas! Flet, Englond, flet, Englond!
Dead is Edmond.