Fred. Our old Lady
(Hark how they run) is even now at this instant
Ready to lose her head-piece by Don John,
Or creeping through a Cat hole. [Petr. and John within.
Petr. Bring 'em down,
And you Sir, follow me.
Duke. He's angry with 'em,
I must not suffer this.
John, within. Bowl down the Bawd there
Old Erra mater: you Lady leachery,
For the good will I bear to th' game, most tenderly
Shall be lead out, and lash'd.
Enter Petrucchio, John, Whore, and Bawd, with Francisco.
Duke. Is this Constantia?
Why Gentlemen? what do you mean? is this she?
Whore. I am Constantia Sir.
Duke. A whore ye are Sir.
Whore. 'Tis very true: I am a whore indeed Sir.
Petr. She will not lye yet, though she steal.