But thou lubber Imagination, That cuckold thy father, where is he become?
At Newgate doth he lie still at jail?
IMAGINATION.
Avaunt, whoreson, thou shalt bear me a stripe; Say'st thou, that my mother was a whore?
FREEWILL.
Nay, sir, but the last night I saw Sir John and she tumbled on the floor.
IMAGINATION.
Now, by Cock's heart, thou shalt lose an arm.
HICKSCORNER.
Nay, sir, I charge you do him no harm.
IMAGINATION.
And thou make too much, I will break thy head too.
HICKSCORNER.
By Saint Mary, and I wist that, I would be ago.
IMAGINATION.
Aware, aware! the whoreson shall aby, His priest will I be, by Cock's body.
HICKSCORNER.
Keep peace, lest knaves' blood be shed.
FREEWILL.
By God, if his was nought, mine was as bad.
IMAGINATION.
By Cock's heart, he shall die on this dagger.
HICKSCORNER.
By our Lady, then will ye be strangled in a halter.
IMAGINATION.
The whoreson shall eat him,[134] as far as he shall wade.
HICKSCORNER.
Beshrew your heart, and put up your blade, Sheathe your whittle, or by Jis,[135] that was never born, I will rap you on the costard with my horn; What, will ye play all the knave?
IMAGINATION.
By Cock's heart, and thou a buffet shalt have.
FREEWILL.
Lo, sirs, here is a fair company, God us save; For if any of us three be mayor of London, I-wis, i-wis, I will ride to Rome on my thumb: Alas! ah, see; is not this a great feres?
I would they were in a mill-pool above the ears; And then I durst warrant, they would depart anon.
HICKSCORNER.
Help, help, for the passion of my soul; He hath made a great hole in my poll, That all my wit is set to the ground: Alas! a leech for to help my wound.
IMAGINATION.
Nay, i-wis, whoreson, I will bite thee, ere I go.
FREEWILL.
Alas! good sir, what have I do?
IMAGINATION.
Ware, make room, he shall have a stripe, I trow.