How now, my dearest Lord and suit, Sir Knave?

Upon thine honour and upon thy grave,

Thou swearest prove thyself a gentleman,

And in itself to gain thyself a fan?

I’ve seen thee lock’d in taverns here and there,

While women do thy apparition fear,

And bringest thou upon thyself such shame

To bring thy visit known in town-hold fame.

 

How now, my dearest Lord and suit, Sir Knave?

Upon thine honour and upon thy grave,

Tell me in number of thy mistresses

Whom courtest with more secret businesses

Than sloppy manners in thine own appeal;

And cannot e’en afford thyself a meal

To fill necessity of lechery,

That cause thine honour shameful treachery.

 

How now, my dearest Lord and suit, Sir Knave?

Upon thine honour and upon thy grave,

When last did women need of thee so much

As claim’st thou paid’st their trinkets, rags and such:

And thus they walk the streets in mockery,

Instead of showing beauty properly,

For givest thou no penny for thy maid –

Not only is thine income so delayed.

 

How now, my dearest Lord and suit, Sir Knave?

Upon thine honour and upon thy grave,

Where lay thy shield and sword of rust maintained?

Thine arms are tired and thy knee is strained

From damaged muscles enemies pull,

Go about in bed as staggered fool;

Bemuse thy maids in character and sex,

For is thy nature’s categ’ry complex.

 

How now, my dearest Lord and suit, Sir Knave?

Upon thine honour and upon thy grave,

What thinks thee shrewd when lackest much of skill

In self-defense, that women may thee kill

And rid thy lack of wit that hast none of;

Methinks one day a dame in thee will shove

Revenge so sweet than cherry juices show,

And there revenge will manifest and grow.

 

How now, my dearest Lord and suit, Sir Knave?

Upon thine honour and upon thy grave,

Pursue me hence and rid thy former life,

And then will I accept to be thy wife;

But if thou wilt remain in trickery,

Enjoy a life profound in misery.

Upon thine honour and upon thy grave,

I’ll bury thee, my dearest Lord, Sir Knave.