Lets Dicke arise, and too’t againe they goe.
Dicke throwes downe Tom, or rather Tom did fall,
My hilts (quoth Dicke) shall braine thee like a maull,
Is’t so (quoth Tom) good faith what remedie,
The Tower of Babell’s fallen and so am I.
But Dicke proceedes to give the fatall wound,
It mist his throate, but run into the ground.
But he supposing that the man was slaine,
Straight fled his contrie, ship himselfe for Spaine,
Whilst valiant Thomas dyed dronken deepe,