R. Royster. Why thou wretched villaine was all this same fault in thee? [Advances angrily against M.] 90
M. Mery [strikes R.]. I knocke your costarde[533] if ye offer to strike me.
R. Royster. Strikest thou in deede? and I offer but in jest?
M. Mery. Yea and rappe you againe except ye can sit in rest.
And I will no longer tarie here me beleve.
R. Royster. What wilt thou be angry, and I do thee forgeve? 95
Fare thou well scribler, I crie thee mercie in deede.
Scrivener. Fare ye well bibbler, and worthily may ye speede.
R. Royster. If it were an other but thou, it were a knave.
M. Mery. Ye are an other your selfe sir, the lorde us both save,