Host.

No, thou arrant knave, I would I might die, that I might have thee hang'd! thou hast drawn my shoulder out of joint.

Bead.

The constables have deliver'd her over to me, and she shall have whipping cheer enough, I warrant her. There hath been a man or too kill'd about her.

Doll.

Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lye: come on; I'll tell thee what, thou tripe-visag'd rascal, if the child

I go with, do miscarry, thou hadst better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper-fac'd villain.

Host.

O that Sir John were come! he would make this a bloody day to somebody.

Bead.

Come, I charge you both go with me, for the man is dead, that you and Pistol beat among you.

Doll.

I'll tell thee what, thou thin man in a censer; I will have you as soundly swindg'd for this, you blue-bottle rogue: you filthy famish'd correctioner, if you be not swindg'd, I'll forswear half kirtles.

Bead.

Come, come, you she knight-arrant, come.

Host.

O, that right should thus o'ercome might! Well, of sufferance comes ease.

Doll.

Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice.

Host.

Yes, come, you starv'd blood-hound!

Doll.

Goodman death, goodman bones!

Host.

Thou atomy, thou!

Doll.

Come, you thin thing: come, you rascal!

Bead.

Very well.