Piston.
Ay, sir; but he, knowing your fierce conditions,
Hath planted a double cannon in the door,
Ready to discharge it upon you when you go by.
I tell you for pure good-will.
Basilisco.
In knightly courtesy, I thank thee:
But hopes the coystrel to escape me so?
Thinks he bare cannon-shot can keep me back?
Why, wherefore serves my targe of proof but for the bullet
That, once put by, I roughly come upon him,
Like to the wings of lightning from above;
I with a martial look astonish him,
Then falls he down, poor wretch! upon his knee,
And all too late repents his surquedry:
Then do I take him on my finger's point,
And thus I bear him thorough every street,
To be a laughing-stock to all the town:
That done, I lay him at my mistress' feet,
For her to give him doom of life or death.
Piston.
Ay, but hear you, sir; I am bound,
In pain of my master's displeasure,
To have a bout at cuffs, afore you and I part.
Basilisco.
Ha, ha, ha! eagles are challeng'd by paltry flies:
Thy folly gives thee privilege; be gone, be gone.
Piston.
No, no, sir: I must have a bout with you, sir, that's flat;
Lest my master turn me out of service.