Pret. Why, Tom, thou art a sharp rogue when thou art angry, I see: thou pay'st me now, methinks.
Bayes. There's pay upon pay! as good as ever was written, egad!
Thim. Ay, sir, in your own coin; you give me nothing but words.[21]
Bayes. Admirable!
Pret. Well, Tom, I hope shortly I shall have another coin for thee; for now the wars are coming on, I shall grow to be a man of metal.
Bayes. Oh, you did not do that half enough.
Johns. Methinks he does it admirably.
Bayes. Ay, pretty well; but he does not hit me in't: he does not top his part.[22]
Thim. That's the way to be stamp'd yourself, sir. I shall see you come home, like an angel for the king's evil, with a hole bor'd thro' you. [Exeunt.