The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind;
A savageness in unreclaimed blood,
Of general assault.

Rey.
But, my good lord,--

Pol.
Wherefore should you do this?

Rey.
Ay, my lord,
I would know that.

Pol.
Marry, sir, here's my drift;
And I believe it is a fetch of warrant:
You laying these slight sullies on my son
As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the working,
Mark you,
Your party in converse, him you would sound,
Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes
The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur'd
He closes with you in this consequence;
'Good sir,' or so; or 'friend,' or 'gentleman'--
According to the phrase or the addition
Of man and country.

Rey.
Very good, my lord.