_ We came to fight.

_Cler._ Ye shall fight Gentlemen,
And fight enough, but a short turn or two,
I think I see him, set up your watch, we'l fight by it.

_Beaup._ That is not he; we will not be deluded.

_Cler._ Am I bob'd thus? pray take a pipe of tobacco,
Or sing but some new air; by that time, Gentlemen--

_Verd._ Come draw your Sword, you know the custome here Sir,
First come, first serv'd.

_Cler._ Though it be held a custom,
And practised so, I do not hold it honest;
What honour can you both win on me single?

_Beaup._ Yield up your Sword then.

_Cler._ Yield my Sword? that's Hebrew;
I'le be first cut a p[iec]es; hold but a while,
I'le take the next that comes.

_Enter an old_ Gentleman.

You are an old Gentleman?

_Gent._ Yes indeed am I, Sir.

_Cler._ And wear no Sword?

_Gent._ I need none, Sir.

_Cler._ I would you did, and had one;
I want now such a foolish courtesie.
You see these Gentlemen?

_Gent._ You want a second.
In good Faith Sir, I was never handsom at it,
I would you had my Son, but he's in _Italy_,
A proper Gentleman; you may do well gallants
If your quarrel be not capital, to have more mercy,
The Gentleman may do his Country--

_Cler._ Now I beseech you, Sir,
If you dare not fight, do not stay to beg my pardon.
There lies your way.

_Gent._ Good morrow Gentlemen. [_Exit._

_Verd._ You see your fortune,
You had better yield your Sword.

_Cler._ Pray ye stay a little.

_Enter two_ Gentlemen.

Upon mine honestie, you shall be fought with;
Well, _Dinant_, well, these wear swords and seem brave fellows.
As you are Gentlemen, one of you supply me.
I want a Second now to meet these gallants,
You know what honour is.

_1 Gent._ Sir you must pardon us,
We goe about the same work, you are ready for;
And must fight presently, else we were your servants.

_2 Gent._ God speed you, and good day. [_Exit_ Gent.

_Cler._ Am I thus Colted?

_Beaup._ Come either yield--

_Cler._ As you are honest Gentlemen,
Stay but the next, and then I'le take my fortune,
And if I fight not like a man--Fy _Dinant_,
Cold now and treacherous.

_Enter Monsieur_ La-writ, _within_.

_La-Writ._ I understand your causes.
Yours about corn, yours about pins and glasses,
Will you make me mad, have I not all the parcells?
And his Petition too, about Bell-founding?
Send in your witnesses, what will you have me do?
Will you have me break my heart? my brai