Banks. Out, out upon thee, witch!
Saw. Dost call me witch?
Banks. I do, witch, I do; and worse I would, knew I a name more hateful. What makest thou upon my ground?
Saw. Gather a few rotten sticks to warm me.
Banks. Down with them when I bid thee, quickly; I'll make thy bones rattle in thy skin else.
Saw. You won't, churl, cut-throat, miser!—there they be; [Throws them down.] would they stuck across thy throat, thy bowels, thy maw, thy midriff.
Banks. Say'st thou me so, hag? Out of my ground!
[Beats her.
Saw. Dost strike me, slave, curmudgeon! Now thy bones aches, thy joints cramps, and convulsions stretch and crack thy sinews!
Banks. Cursing, thou hag! take that, and that.