GUIDERIUS.
A thing
More slavish did I ne’er than answering
A slave without a knock.
CLOTEN.
Thou art a robber,
A law-breaker, a villain. Yield thee, thief.
GUIDERIUS.
To who? To thee? What art thou? Have not I
An arm as big as thine, a heart as big?
Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not
My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art;
Why I should yield to thee.
CLOTEN.
Thou villain base,
Know’st me not by my clothes?
GUIDERIUS.
No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
Who is thy grandfather; he made those clothes,
Which, as it seems, make thee.
CLOTEN.
Thou precious varlet,
My tailor made them not.
GUIDERIUS.
Hence, then, and thank
The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;
I am loath to beat thee.
CLOTEN.
Thou injurious thief,
Hear but my name, and tremble.
GUIDERIUS.
What’s thy name?
CLOTEN.
Cloten, thou villain.