His Lady banisht, and a Limbe lopt off.
This Staffe of Honor raught, there let it stand,
Where it best fits to be, in Henries hand

Suff. Thus droupes this loftie Pyne, & hangs his sprayes,
Thus Elianors Pride dyes in her youngest dayes

Yorke. Lords, let him goe. Please it your Maiestie,
This is the day appointed for the Combat,
And ready are the Appellant and Defendant,
The Armorer and his Man, to enter the Lists,
So please your Highnesse to behold the fight

Queene. I, good my Lord: for purposely therefore
Left I the Court, to see this Quarrell try'de

King. A Gods Name see the Lysts and all things fit,
Here let them end it, and God defend the right

Yorke. I neuer saw a fellow worse bestead,
Or more afraid to fight, then is the Appellant,
The seruant of this Armorer, my Lords.
Enter at one Doore the Armorer and his Neighbors, drinking to
him so
much, that hee is drunke; and he enters with a Drumme before
him, and his
Staffe, with a Sand-bagge fastened to it: and at the other Doore his
Man,
with a Drumme and Sand-bagge, and Prentices drinking to him.