For th’one I cared not: th’other nipt so nye
That whyst I cold not, but forthwith brake forth:
“If so it be, of death they are doubtlesse worth?”
“If, traitour?” quoth he, “playst thou with yfs and ands?
Ile on thy bodye auowe it with these hands:”
And therwithal he mightlye bounced the borde,
In rushd his byl-men, one himselfe bestird.
75.
Laying at lord Stanley, whose brain he had surely cleft,
Had he not downe beneathe the table crept: