Erms. Nor I mine: swones,[192] Ned, I think I am bewitched.
Miles. A company of scabs! the proudest of you all draw your weapon, if he can.—[Aside]. See how boldly I speak, now my master is by.
P. Edw. I strive in vain; but if my sword be shut
And conjur'd fast by magic in my sheath,
Villain, here is my fist.
[Strikes Miles a box on the ear.
Miles. O, I beseech you conjure his hands too, that he may not lift his arms to his head, for he is light-fingered!
Ralph. Ned, strike him; I'll warrant thee by mine honour.
Bacon. What! means the English prince to wrong my man?
P. Edw. To whom speakest thou?
Bacon. To thee.
P. Edw. Who art thou?