Part 13 (1/2)

Arui. How Angell-like he sings?

Gui. But his neate Cookerie?

Arui. He cut our Rootes in Charracters, And sawc'st our Brothes, as Iuno had bin sicke, And he her Dieter

Arui. n.o.bly he yoakes A smiling, with a sigh; as if the sighe Was that it was, for not being such a Smile: The Smile, mocking the Sigh, that it would flye From so diuine a Temple, to commix With windes, that Saylors raile at

Gui. I do note, That greefe and patience rooted in them both, Mingle their spurres together

Arui. Grow patient, And let the stinking-Elder (Greefe) vntwine His peris.h.i.+ng roote, with the encreasing Vine

Bel. It is great morning. Come away: Who's there?

Enter Cloten.

Clo. I cannot finde those Runnagates, that Villaine Hath mock'd me. I am faint

Bel. Those Runnagates?

Meanes he not vs? I partly know him, 'tis Cloten, the Sonne o'th' Queene. I feare some Ambush: I saw him not these many yeares, and yet I know 'tis he: We are held as Out-Lawes: Hence

Gui. He is but one: you, and my Brother search What Companies are neere: pray you away, Let me alone with him

Clot. Soft, what are you That flye me thus? Some villaine-Mountainers?

I haue heard of such. What Slaue art thou?

Gui. A thing More slauish did I ne're, then answering A Slaue without a knocke

Clot. Thou art a Robber, A Law-breaker, a Villaine: yeeld thee Theefe

Gui. To who? to thee? What art thou? Haue not I An arme as bigge as thine? A heart, as bigge: Thy words I grant are bigger: for I weare not My Dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art: Why I should yeeld to thee?

Clot. Thou Villaine base, Know'st me not by my Cloathes?

Gui. No, nor thy Taylor, Rascall: Who is thy Grandfather? He made those cloathes, Which (as it seemes) make thee

Clo. Thou precious Varlet, My Taylor made them not

Gui. Hence then, and thanke The man that gaue them thee. Thou art some Foole, I am loath to beate thee

Clot. Thou iniurious Theefe, Heare but my name, and tremble

Gui. What's thy name?

Clo. Cloten, thou Villaine

Gui. Cloten, thou double Villaine be thy name, I cannot tremble at it, were it Toad, or Adder, Spider, 'Twould moue me sooner

Clot. To thy further feare, Nay, to thy meere Confusion, thou shalt know I am Sonne to'th' Queene

Gui. I am sorry for't: not seeming So worthy as thy Birth

Clot. Art not afeard?

Gui. Those that I reuerence, those I feare: the Wise: At Fooles I laugh: not feare them

Clot. Dye the death: When I haue slaine thee with my proper hand, Ile follow those that euen now fled hence: And on the Gates of Luds-Towne set your heads: Yeeld Rusticke Mountaineer.

Fight and Exeunt.