285 Launce. Fie on thee, jolt-head! thou canst not read.
Speed. Thou liest; I can.
Launce. I will try thee. Tell me this: who begot thee?
Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather.
Launce. O illiterate loiterer! it was the son of thy grandmother: 290 this proves that thou canst not read.
Speed. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper.
Launce. There; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed!
[Speed] [reads]. ‘[Imprimis]: She can milk.’
Launce. Ay, that she can.
295 Speed. ‘Item: She brews good ale.’