Leath. O, my head!
Pup. Cole. Harm watch, harm catch!
Cokes. Harm watch, harm catch, he says; very good, i’faith: the sculler had like to have knock’d you, sirrah.
Leath. Yes, but that his fare call’d him away.
Pup. Lean. Row apace, row apace, row, row, row, row, row.
Leath. You are knavishly loaden, sculler, take heed where you go.
Pup. Cole. Knave in your face, goodman rogue.
Pup. Lean. Row, row, row, row, row.
Cokes. He said, knave in your face, friend.
Leath. Ay, sir, I heard him; but there’s no talking to these watermen, they will have the last word.