MAT. Well, come, sir.

BOB. Why, you do not manage your weapons with that facility and
grace that you should do, I have no spirit to play with you, your
dearth of judgment makes you seem tedious.

MAT. But one venue, sir.

BOB. Fie! venue, most gross denomination as ever I heard: oh,
the stoccado while you live, Signior, not that. Come, put on
your cloak, and we'll go to some private place where you are
acquainted, some tavern or so, and we'll send for one of these
fencers, where he shall breathe you at my direction, and then I'll
teach you that trick; you shall kill him with it at the first if
you please: why, I'll learn you by the true judgment of the eye,
hand, and foot, to control any man's point in the world; Should
your adversary confront you with a pistol, 'twere nothing, you
should (by the same rule) control the bullet, most certain, by
Phoebus: unless it were hail-shot: what money have you about
you, sir?

MAT. Faith, I have not past two shillings, or so.

BOB. 'Tis somewhat with the least, but come, when we have done,
we'll call up Signior Prospero; perhaps we shall meet with
Coridon his brother there.

[EXEUNT.]