Dice diving deepe into a Ruffians purse,

Leaving it nothing worth but strings and leather:

He presently did fall to sweare and curse,

That’s life and money he would loose together,

Tooke of his hat, and swore, let me but see

What Rogue dares say this same is blacke to me?

Another lost, and he did money lacke,

And thus his furie in a heate revives:

Where is that Rogue denies his hat is blacke?

Ile fight with him, had he ten thousand lives.

Oh sir (quoth he) in troth you come too late,

Choller is past, my anger’s out of date.