MURLEY. Fie, paltry, paltry! in and out, to and fro, upon occasion; if the King be so unwise to come there, we’ll fight with him too.
TOM.
What, if ye should kill the King?
MURLEY.
Then we’ll make another.
DICK.
Is that all? do ye not speak treason?
MURLEY. If we do, who dare trip us? we come to fight for our conscience, and for honor. Little know you what is in my bosom; look here, mad knaves, a pair of gilt spurs.
TOM. A pair of golden spurs? Why do you not put them on your heels? Your bosom’s no place for spurs.
MURLEY. Be’t more or less upon occasion, Lord have mercy upon us, Tom, th’art a fool, and thou speakest treason to knighthood. Dare any wear golden or silver spurs till he be a knight? No, I shall be knighted to morrow, and then they shall on. Sirs, was it ever read in the church book of Dunstable, that ever malt man was made knight?
TOM. No, but you are more: you are meal-man, maltman, miller, corn-master and all.
DICK.
Yea, and half a brewer too, and the devil and all for wealth.
You bring more money with you, than all the rest.
MURLEY. The more’s my honor. I shall be a knight to morrow! Let me spose my men: Tom upon cut, Dick upon hob, Hodge upon Ball, Raph upon Sorell, and Robin upon the forehorse.