Fab. 'Twas well Sir,
You had that good respect unto his temper,
That no worse follow'd.
Fred. If I had stood him, certain one of us must have perish'd.
How now Frank?
Fra. Beshrew my heart I tremble like an aspin.
Clor. Let him come here no more for Heavens sake
Unless he be in chains.
Fra. I would fain see him
After he has slept, Fabritio, but to try
How he will be; chide him, and bring him back.
Clor. You'l never leave till you be worried with him.
Fra. Come Brother, we'l walk in, and laugh a little
To get this Fever off me.
Clor. Hang him squib,
Now could I grind him into priming powder.
Fra. Pray will you leave your fooling?
Fab. Come, all friends.