Tooke of his hat, and swore, let me but see
What Rogue dares say this same is blacke to me?
Another lost, and he did money lacke,
And thus his furie in a heate revives:
Where is that Rogue denies his hat is blacke?
Ile fight with him, had he ten thousand lives.
Oh sir (quoth he) in troth you come too late,
Choller is past, my anger’s out of date.
