Ros. Well, then, I am the shooter.
Boyet.
And who is your deer?
[108] Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself come not near.
Finely put on, indeed!
110 Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she strikes at the brow.
Boyet. But she herself is hit lower: have I hit her now?
Ros. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying, that was a man when King Pepin of France was a little boy, as touching the hit it?
115 Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that was a woman when Queen Guinover of Britain was a little wench, as touching the hit it.
Ros.