che vore ye, or ise try whether your costard or my bat be the
harder: chill be plain with you.

Osw.
Out, dunghill!

Edg.
Chill pick your teeth, zir. Come! No matter vor your foins.

[They fight, and Edgar knocks him down.]

Osw.
Slave, thou hast slain me:--villain, take my purse:
If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body;
And give the letters which thou find'st about me
To Edmund Earl of Gloster; seek him out
Upon the British party: O, untimely death!
[Dies.]

Edg.
I know thee well: a serviceable villain;
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress
As badness would desire.

Glou.
What, is he dead?

Edg.
Sit you down, father; rest you.--
Let's see these pockets; the letters that he speaks of