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 two kill'd about her.

Dol.

^{8 note}Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lye. Come on. I'll tell thee what, thou damn'd 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 the Lord, that Sir John were come, he would make this a bloody day to some body. But I pray God, the fruit of her womb miscarry.

Bead.

If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again, you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you both go with me; for the man is dead, that you and Pistol beat among you.

Dol.

I'll tell thee what, thou thin^{9 note} man in a Censer! I will have you as soundly swing'd for this, you blue-bottle rogue!^{1 note}—You filthy famish'd correctioner! if you be not swing'd, I'll forswear half-kirtles.^{2 note}

Bead.

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

Host.
O, that Right should thus o'ercome Might!
Well, of sufferance comes ease.

Dol.

Come, you rogue, come. Bring me to a Justice.

Host.

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

Dol.

Goodman death, goodman bones!—

Host.

Thou Atomy, thou?

Dol.

Come, you thin thing: come, you rascal!

Bead.

Very well.