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.

Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie: 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 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 man in a censor; 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.

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 ^{d note}Atomy, thou.

Dol.

Come, you thin thing: come, you rascal.

Bead.

Very well.