Ill-W. Com'st here leyt with your gound? stand near!
It becomes you better to handle a pot of beer.
Hance. Dat maght ic veil dan, ic can skynke frelyck;
Tab bers frew; ic bringes brore, begotts nemerick!
Wit. The whoreson knave, by the mass! is drunk
A winking, for deep his eyen be clean sunk.
Hance. Ic forave ye vell ye seg dac ic slepe
Nenike, nenike, ic compta hore for an audor cepe.
Ill-W. Well coppin, I pray thee, heartily tell us true
Wherefore comest thou hither for anything to sue?
Hance. Ye icke feger en bumbardere van de koyning wei it be
Heb twe skelling de dagh ic con scote de culveryn.
Wit. Nay! ye shall walk, a Fleming knave! will ye not see B4,v.
We have English gunners enow? there is no room empty.
Hance. Ic best en bomberde mot ye to me spreken
What segge ye? bones! it sal ye yode staen.
Ill-W. We speak not to thee; thou art a scon man,
But go thy way! they be not here that promote thee can.
Hance. Cant ye me a de house dragen van de grot here?