PUT.
I arrest you, sir.
PYE. Oh—I spoke truer then I was a ware, I must to prison indeed.
PUT. They say you’re a scholar: nay, sir—Yeoman Dogson, have care to his arms—you’ll rail again Sergeants, and stage ’em! you tickle their vices!
PYE.
Nay, use me like a Gentleman, I’m little less.
PUT. You a Gentleman? That’s a good Jest, ifaith; can a Scholar be a Gentleman,—when a Gentleman will not be a Scholar? look upon your wealthy Citizen’s sons, whether they be Scholars or no, that are Gentlemen by their father’s trades: a Scholar a Gentleman!
PYE. Nay, let Fortune drive all her stings into me, she cannot hurt that in me: a Gentleman is Accidens Inseperable to my blood.
RAVEN.
A rablement, nay, you shall have a bloody rablement upon you,
I warrant you.
PUT.
Go, Yeoman Dogson, before, and Enter the Action ’ith Counter.
PYE.
Pray do not hand me Cruelly, I’ll go,
[Exit Dogson.]