Now, Chomsky, do I turn to thee, and mark my greeting well; for what I speak my body shall make good upon this earth, or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, too good to be so and too bad to live, since the more fair and crystal is the sky, the uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, with a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; and wish, ere I move, what my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove.

Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, the bitter clamour of two eager tongues, can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; the blood is hot that must be cool'd for this: Which else would post until it had return'd these terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside my high blood's royalty, I do defy him, and I spit at him; call him a slanderous coward and a villain:

Which to maintain I would allow him odds, and meet him, were I tied to run afoot even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, or any other ground inhabitable, where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time let this defend my loyalty, by all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop: