But buss me, ich pray thee, at going away.
[Exeunt Hob, Lob.
Marian.
Thou whoreson knave and prickear’d boy,
Why didst thou let them fight?
If one had kill’d another here,
Couldst thou their deaths requite?
It bears a sign by this thy deed,
A cowardly knave thou art;
Else wouldst thou draw that weapon thine,