London. A Street. |
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Enter BEADLES, dragging in MISTRESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET. |
Quick. 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. |
First Bead. The constables have delivered her over to me, and she shall have whipping-cheer enough, 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. |
Quick. 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! |
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 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. |
First Bead. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. |
Quick. O, that right should thus overcome might! Well, of sufferance comes ease. |
Dol. Come, you rogue, come: bring me to a justice. |
Quick. Ay; come, you starved blood-hound. |
Dol. Goodman death! goodman bones! |
Quick. Thou atomy, thou! |
Dol. Come, you thin thing; come, you rascal! |
First Bead. Very well. [Exeunt. |
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