Bow. So, what's your name?
Clow. My name, sir, is Bow wow.
Bow. S'hart, what a name's that! the Hedge-hog mocks us. Bow wow, quotha? what kin art thou to the generation of Dogges?
Clow. No dog, sir: would you should know it, though I be encompast with curres.
Bow. Zounds, he calls us curres! hang the hotch-potch up in a fathom or two of match.
Clow. Not you, sir; I call not you so. I know you to be a very insufficient ill-spoken Gentleman.
Bow. Well, sirra, whom do you serve?
Clow. My master, sir, is the Lady Catherine, the French king's daughter. I have bin abroad about some businesse of hers, and am now going backe againe.
Bow. An honorable Lady, sir. Let him goe; tis against the law of armes to stay him.
Clow. Stand of. But, soft; I doe not know your name, sir, that my Lady may give you thanks.