me, tell me.
I love thee not.
Why, then, I care not for thee.
If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee
care for me.
Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
Fellow, I know thee.
What dost thou know me for?
A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a
base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited,
hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a
lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson,
glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue;
one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a
bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but
the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar,
and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I
will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest
the least syllable of thy addition.
Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail
on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee!
What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou
knowest me! Is it two days ago since I tripped up
thy heels, and beat thee before the king? Draw, you
rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon
shines; I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of you:
draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw.
Away! I have nothing to do with thee.
Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the
king; and take vanity the puppet's part against the
royalty of her father: draw, you rogue, or I'll so
carbonado your shanks: draw, you rascal; come your ways.
Help, ho! murder! help!
Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat
slave, strike.
Help, ho! murder! murder!
How now! What's the matter?
With you, goodman boy, an you please: come, I'll
flesh ye; come on, young master.
Weapons! arms! What 's the matter here?
Keep peace, upon your lives:
He dies that strikes again. What is the matter?
The messengers from our sister and the king.
What is your difference? speak.
I am scarce in breath, my lord.
No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour. You
cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee: a
tailor made thee.
Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?
Ay, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter or painter could
not have made him so ill, though he had been but two
hours at the trade.
Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?
This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared
at suit of his gray beard,--
Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My