[Enter three or four Apprentices of trades, with a pair of cudgels.]

HARRY.
Come, lay down the cudgels. Ho, Robin, you met us well at
Bunhill, to have you with us a Maying this morning.

ROBIN.
Faith, Harry, the head drawer at the Miter by the great Conduit
called me up, and we went to breakfast into St. Anne lane. But
come, who begins? in good faith, I am clean out of practise. When
wast at Garrets school, Harry?

HARRY.
Not this great while, never since I brake his ushers head, when he
played his scholars prize at the Star in Bread-street. I use all to
George Philpots at Dowgate; he's the best backswordman in
England.

KIT.
Bate me an ace of that, quoth Bolton.

HARRY.
I'll not bate ye a pin on 't, sir; for, by this cudgel, tis true.

KIT.
I will cudgel that opinion out of ye: did you break an ushers head,
sir?

HARRY.