Leo. I am as gentle as your self, as free born.
Zanch. Observe his way.
Leo. As much respect ow'd to me.
Zanch. This hangs together nobly.
Leo. And for Civil,
A great deal more it seems: go look your Daughter.
Zanch. There ye went well off Signior.
Leo. That rough tongue
You understand at first: you never think Sir
Out of your mightiness, of my loss: here I stand
A patient Anvil, to your burning angers
Made subject to your dangers; yet my loss equal:
Who shall bring home my Son?
Alph. A whipping Beadle.
Leo. Why, is your Daughter whorish?
Alph. Ha, thou dar'st not,
By heaven I know thou dar'st not.