Bart. I'll take no noat Penurio.
Pen. No, nor you shall not, till yo have it soundly.
This is the bravest Capitano Pompo.
Enter Isabella.
But I shall pump ye anon, Sir.
Isab. Oh my Bartello.
Bart. Ye pretty Rogue; you little Rogue, you sweet Rogue,
Away Penurio, go and walk i'th' Horse-Fair.
Isab. You do not love me?
Bart. Thou liest, thou little rascal;
There sirrah, to your Centry.
Pen. How the Colt itches.
I'll help ye to a Curry-comb shall claw ye. [Exit.
Isab. And how much dost thou love me?