To kill thee on advantage in my heat.
Tush we’le not fight for any hate or soe,
But for meere love that each to other owe.
And for thy learning loe Ile shew a tricke,
No sooner spoke the worde but downe comes Dicke,
Well now (quoth Tom) thy life hangs on my sworde,
If I were downe how wouldst thou keepe thy worde?
Why with these hilts I’de braine thee at a blow,
Faith in my humor cut thy throate, or soe,
But Tom he scorne to kill his conquered foe,