BUT. Peace, honest mistress, I will say you are wrong'd,
Prove it upon him, even in his blood, his bones,
His guts, his maw, his throat, his entrails.
SCAR. You runagate of threescore!
BUT. 'Tis better than a knave of three-and-twenty.
SCAR. Patience be my buckler!
As not to file[429] my hands in villain's blood;
You knave, slave, trencher-groom!
Who is your master?
BUT. You, if you were a master.
SCAR. Off with your coat then, get you forth a-doors.
BUT. My coat, sir?
SCAR. Ay, your coat, slave.
BUT. 'Sfoot, when you ha't, 'tis but a threadbare coat,
And there 'tis for you: know that I scorn
To wear his livery is so worthy born,
And live so base a life; old as I am,
I'll rather be a beggar than your man,
And there's your service for you. [Exit.
SCAR. Away, out of my door: away!
So, now your champion's gone, minx, thou hadst better
Have gone quick unto thy grave—