Will. In faith, doating dottrel,[91] you will cry creak.
Here entereth Snap.
Snap. Away, you crack-ropes, are you fighting at the court-gate?
And I take you here again, I will swinge you both: what!
[Exit.
Jack. I beshrew Snap the tipstaff, that great knave’s heart, that hither did come,
Had he not been, you had cried ere this, Victus, victa, victum:
But seeing we have breathed ourselves, if ye list,
Let us agree like friends, and shake each other by the fist.
Will. Content am I, for I am not malicious; but on this condition,