Scrivener. Ye shall have as good as ye bring of me, that is plain.
M. Merry. I cannot blame him, sir, though your blows would him grieve;
For he knoweth present death to ensue of all ye give.
R. Roister. Well, this man for once hath purchased thy pardon.
Scrivener. And what say ye to me? or else I will be gone.
R. Roister. I say, the letter thou madest me was not good.
Scrivener. Then did ye wrong copy it, of likelihood.
R. Roister. Yes, out of thy copy, word for word, I it wrote.
Scrivener. Then was it as you prayed to have it, I wot: