What didst thou just spake of me, thou dog? Know this, knave, I am the best sword in the fleets of Sir Francis Drake, and I hath partaken in numerous raids ‘pon the ports of Spain and hath carried off over three hundred Doubloons! I am trained in musket warfare and am the best shot in the militias of His Majesty! Thou art nothing to me but another target. I shalt strike thee down with all the furies of the Heavens above and Hells below, of a sort not yet seen on this Earth. Thou thinkest that ye can slander me, naught consequence? Thou art mistaken. For as we speak, I am contacting my spies and friends cross’t the breadth of old England to locate thou, so thou best prepare for mine storm, ye cowardly poltroon. A divine storm that shalt wipe out ye pathetic existence. Thou art but food for mine dogs, for I canst be anwhere at any time, and I canst kill thou in over seven hundred ways with naught but mine sword and buckler. Nay, not only am I extensively trained in the arts of unarmed combat, but I hath also access to the entire arsenals of His Majesty’s militias. I shalt use it to its full extent to wipe thine miserable body of the face of Our Lord’s Earth, ye dog. Alas, if only thou had knownst what unholy retribution thine libels were about to bring down on thee, mayhap thou wouldst have kept silent. But thou did not, and now thou shalt pay the price, ye Godforsaken dogsbody. I shalt shit fury down from the Heavens ‘pon thou, and thou shalt drown in it. Confess, and prepare to meet thine maker, sirrah.