Hostess.

No, thou arrant Knave, I would I might die, that I might have thee hang'd; thou hast drawn my Shoulder out of joynt.

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, lately, kill'd about her.

Dol.

Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie: Come on, I'll tell thee what, thou damn'd Tripe-visag'd Rascal, if the Child I now go with do miscarry, thou hadst better thou hadst strook thy Mother, thou Paper-fac'd Villain.

Host.

O that Sir John were come, he would make this a bloody day to some body. But I would the Fruit of her Womb might 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 Man in a Censor; I will have you as soundly swing'd for this, you blue-bottl'd Rogue; you filthy famish'd Correctioner, if you be not swing'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 case.

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 Anatomy, thou.

Dol.
Come, you thin Thing:
Come, you Rascal.

Bead.
Very well. [Exeunt.

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