Whit. And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.
[♦] How now! why start’st thou? what, doth death affright?
Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
A cunning man did calculate my birth
35 And told me that by water I should die:
Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded;
Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded.
Whit. Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care not:
[♦] Never yet did base dishonour blur our name,
40 But with our sword we wiped away the blot;