 | The Knave of Harts |  |
A Guls fray.
Sirrha thou knowst me, dost thou not?Thou most inferiour to a sot,
At such a time, in such a place,
Thy breath my person did disgrace,
And Mars hath crost me in my vow,
Till by good hap, I ceaze thee now.
Draw, if thou hast a heart to draw;
VVith Rapier points wee'll goe to law.
Tother turn'd vp his hat before,
And laying hand on's weapon, swore,
His choler was extreamely heate,
His hart swolne wondrous big and great,
His fury euen Orlando-like,
More bold then Hercules to strike:
But (quoth he) if thou think'st it good,
VVeell reason in the coole of blood,
VVe haue beene friends God knowes how long,
I can put vp a greater wrong
Then this comes to. Faith so can I,
The other Swagg'rer did reply:
Thinke but on Peter Lamberts swing,
And killing men's a scuruy thing.
| The Knave of Harts | |