Flu. There is one goat for you. Strikes him. Will you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it?
Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die.
Flu. You say very true, scald knave, when Heaven’s will is: I will desire you to live in the mean time, and eat your victuals: come, there is sauce for it. Striking him again. You called me yesterday mountain-squire; but I will make you to-day a squire of low degree.[2] I pray you, fall to: if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.
Gow. Enough, captain: you have astonished him.[3]
Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days.—Pite, I pray you; it is goot for you.
Pist. Must I bite?
Flu. Yes, certainly, and out of doubt, and out of questions too, and ambiguities.
Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge: I eat, and eke I swear——
Flu. Eat, I pray you: Will you have some more sauce to your leek? there is not enough leek to swear by.
Pist. Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat.