Host.

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

1 Bead.

The constables have delivered her over to me, and she shall have whipping-cheer enough^{4 note}, I warrant her. There hath been a man or two lately killed about her.

Dol.

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

Host.

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

1 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 censer, I will have you as soundly swinged for this,—you blue-bottle rogue! you filthy famished correctioner! if you be not swinged, I'll forswear half-kirtles.

1 Bead.

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

Host.

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

Dol.

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

Host.

Ay; come, you starved blood-hound.

Dol.

Goodman death! goodman bones!

Host.

Thou atomy thou!

Dol.

Come, you thin thing; come, you rascal!

1 Bead.

Very well.