After The Quarrel

Laurence Raby's Chamber. LAURENCE enters, a little the worse for liquor. Laurence: He never gave me a chance to speak, And he call'd her—worse than a dog— The girl stood up with a crimson cheek, And I fell'd him there like a log. I can feel the blow on my knuckles yet— He feels it more on his brow. In a thousand years we shall all forget The things that trouble us now.