I cannot find those runagates

Cloten, to himself
I cannot find those runagates. That villain
Hath mocked me. I am faint.
Belarius, as Morgan, to Polydor and Cadwal
“Those runagates”?
Means he not us? I partly know him. ’Tis
Cloten, the son o’ th’ Queen. I fear some ambush.
I saw him not these many years, and yet
I know ’tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence.

Those that I reverence, those I fear—the wise;
At fools I laugh, not fear them.

Guiderius, as Polydor
He is but one. You and my brother search
What companies are near. Pray you, away.
Let me alone with him.  Belarius and Arviragus exit.
Cloten
Soft, what are you
That fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers?
I have heard of such.—What slave art thou?
Guiderius, as Polydor
A thing
More slavish did I ne’er than answering
A slave without a knock.
Cloten
Thou art a robber,
A lawbreaker, a villain. Yield thee, thief.
Guiderius, as Polydor
To who? To thee? What art thou? Have not I
An arm as big as thine? A heart as big?
Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not
My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art,
Why I should yield to thee.
Cloten
Thou villain base,
Know’st me not by my clothes?
Guiderius, as Polydor
No, nor thy tailor, rascal.
Who is thy grandfather? He made those clothes,
Which, as it seems, make thee.
Cloten
Thou precious varlet,
My tailor made them not.
Guiderius, as Polydor
Hence then, and thank
The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool.
I am loath to beat thee.
Cloten
Thou injurious thief,
Hear but my name, and tremble.
Guiderius, as Polydor
What’s thy name?
Cloten
Cloten, thou villain.
Guiderius, as Polydor
Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,
I cannot tremble at it. Were it Toad, or Adder, Spider,
’Twould move me sooner.
Cloten
To thy further fear,
Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
I am son to th’ Queen.
Guiderius, as Polydor
I am sorry for ’t, not seeming
So worthy as thy birth.
Cloten
Art not afeard?
Guiderius, as Polydor
Those that I reverence, those I fear—the wise;
At fools I laugh, not fear them.
Cloten
Die the death!
When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
I’ll follow those that even now fled hence
And on the gates of Lud’s Town set your heads.
Yield, rustic mountaineer!
 They fight and exit.