HARPOOLE.
Nay, my good lord of Rochester, I’ll bring you to Saint
Albans through the woods, I warrant you.
COBHAM.
Villain, away.
HARPOOLE.
Nay, since I am past the Tower’s liberty, thou part’st not so.
[He draws.]
COBHAM.
Clubs, clubs, clubs!
FIRST SERVANT.
Murther, murther, murther!
SECOND SERVANT.
Down with him!
[They fight.]
THIRD SERVANT.
A villain traitor!
HARPOOLE.
You cowardly rogues!