Host.

No, thou arrant knave; I would to God that ^note I might die, that I might have thee hanged: thou hast drawn my shoulder out of joint.

First Bead. ^note

The constables have delivered her over to me; and she shall have whipping-cheer enough ^note, I warrant her: there hath been a man or two lately ^note killed about her.

Dol. ^note

Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I'll tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal, an ^note the child I now ^note go with do miscarry, thou wert ^note better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper-faced villain.

Host.

O the Lord ^note, that Sir John were come! he ^note would make this a bloody day to somebody. But I pray God ^note the fruit of her womb miscarry ^note!

First 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 amongst ^note you.

Dol.

I'll tell you what, you ^note thin man in a censer, I will have you as soundly swinged for this,—you blue-bottle ^note

rogue, you filthy famished correctioner, if you be not swinged, I'll forswear half-kirtles.

First Bead.

Come, come, you she knight-errant ^note, come.

Host.

O God ^note, that right should thus overcome ^note might! Well, of sufferance comes ease.

Dol.

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

Host.

Ay, come ^note, you starved blood-hound.

Dol.

Goodman death, goodman bones!

Host.

Thou atomy ^note, thou!

Dol.

Come, you thin thing; come, you rascal.

First Bead.

Very well.