NICH. Why, I say not so much as, How do ye?
COOMES. Do ye not so, sir?
NICH. No, indeed, whatsoe'er I think; and thought is free.
COOMES. You whoreson wafer-cake, by God's dines, I'll crush ye for this!
NICH. Give an inch, and you'll take an ell; I will not put my finger in a hole, I warrant ye: what, man! ne'er crow so fast, for a blind man may kill a hare; I have known when a plain fellow hath hurt a fencer, so I have: what! a man may be as slow as a snail, but as fierce as a lion, and he be moved; indeed, I am patient, I must needs say, for patience in adversity brings a man to the Three Cranes in the Vintry.
COOMES. Do ye hear? set down your torch; draw, fight, I am for ye.
NICH. And I am for ye too, though it be from this midnight to the next morn.
COOMES. Where be your tools?
NlCH. Within a mile of an oak, sir; he's a proud horse will not carry his own provender, I warrant ye.
COOMES. Now am I in my quarrelling humour, and now can I say nothing but, zounds, draw! but I'll untruss, and then have to it. [Aside.]