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(To Ethw.) What say'st thou, friend? Methinks thou'rt grave and silent: Hast thou so soon thy noble trade forgot? Have at it then! I'll rouse thy spirit up: I'll soldier thee again. (drawing his sword playfully upon Ethwald, who defends himself in like manner.) Fie on't! that was a wicked northern push: It smells of thine old sports in Mollo's walls. (pauses and fights again.) To it again! How listless thou art grown! Where is thy manhood gone?

Ethw. Fear not, my Lord, enough remains behind To win your forty kine.

Ed. I'll take thy word for't now: in faith, I'm tired! I've been too eager in the morning's chace To fight your noonday battles. (putting the point of his sword to the ground, and leaning familiarly upon Ethwald.) My arm, I fear, would make but little gain With Bournoth's sword. By arms and brave men's love! I could not brook to see that wordy braggard Perching his paltry sire above thy pitch: It rais'd my fiend within. When I am great, I'll build a tower upon the very spot Where thou did'st first the British army stay, And shame the grandsires of those mighty Thanes Six ages deep. Lean I too hard upon thee?