Pist. Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see, I eat.
Flu. Much good do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, pray you, throw none away, the skin is good for your proken coxcomb: when you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at 'em, that's all.
Pist. Good.
Flu. Ay, leeks is good; hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate.
Pist. Me a groat!
Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it; or I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat.
Pist. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.
Flu. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cudgels; you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels; God pe wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate. [Exit.]
Pist. All hell shall stir for this.
Gore. Go, go, you are a counterfeit cowardly knave: will you mock at an antient tradition, began upon an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour, and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English cudgel; you find it otherwise; and henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good English condition: fare you well. [Exit.]