Enter Beadles dragging in Hostess Quickly and Doll
No, thou arrant knave! I would to God that I
might die, that I might have thee hanged. Thou hast
drawn my shoulder out of joint.
The constables have delivered her over
to me, and she shall have whipping-cheer, I warrant
her; there hath been a man or two killed about her.
Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on, I 'll tell
thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal, an the
child I go with do miscarry, thou wert better thou hadst
struck thy mother, thou paper-faced villain.
O the Lord, that Sir John were come! I would
make this a bloody day to somebody. But I pray God
the fruit of her womb miscarry!
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 you.
I'll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I will
perfuming vessel with a perforated and ornamented lid
have you as soundly swinged for this – you bluebottle
rogue, you filthy famished correctioner, if you be not
swinged I'll forswear half-kirtles.
Come, come, you she knight-errant,
O God, that right should thus overcome might!
Well, of sufferance comes ease.
Come, you rogue, come, bring me to a justice.
Ay, come, you starved bloodhound.
Goodman death, goodman bones!
Thou atomy, thou!
Come, you thin thing, come, you rascal!