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Oli. What, boy!

[Strikes him.]

Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this.

[Collaring him.]

Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain?

Orl. I am no villain; I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys. He was my father, and he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy throat till this other had pull’d out thy tongue for saying so. Thou hast rail’d on thyself.

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient, for your father’s remembrance, be at accord.

Oli. Let me go, I say.

Orl. I will not till I please. You shall hear me. My father charg’d you in his will to give me good education. You have train’d me like a peasant, obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it; therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me the poor allottery my father left me by testament, with that I will go buy my fortunes.