Direct reading · Original
Section 1071
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Bast.
In wisedome I should aske thy name,
But since thy out‐side lookes so faire and Warlike,
And that thy tongue (some say) of breeding breathes,
What safe, and nicely I might well delay,
By rule of Knight‐hood, I disdaine and spurne:
Backe do I tosse these Treasons to thy head,
With the hell‐hated Lye, ore‐whelme thy heart,
Which for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise,
This Sword of mine shall giue them instant way,
Where they shall rest for euer. Trumpets speake.