1 Gent.

How now, which of your hips has the most profound sciatica?

Bawd.

Well, well; there's one yonder arrested, and carry'd to prison, was worth five thousand of you all.

1 Gent.

Who's that, I pr'ythee?

Bawd.

Marry, Sir, that's Claudio; Signior Claudio.

1 Gent.

Claudio to prison? 'tis not so.

Bawd.

Nay, but I know, 'tis so. I saw him arrested; saw him carry'd away; and, which is more, within these three days his head is to be chopt off.

Lucio.

But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. Art thou sure of this?

Bawd.

I am too sure of it; and it is for getting madam Julietta with child.

Lucio.

Believe me, this may be. He promised to meet me two hours since, and he was ever precise in promise-keeping.

2 Gent.

Besides, you know, it draws something near to the speech we had to such a purpose.

1 Gent.

But most of all agreeing with the proclamation.

Lucio.

Away, let's go learn the truth of it.

Bawd.

Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat,^{2 note} what with the gallows, and what with poverty,

I am custom shrunk. How now, what's the news with you?