Jul. Why slaves, 'tis in our power to hang ye.
Mast. Very likely.
'Tis in our powers then to be hang'd, and scorn ye.
Hanging's as sweet to us, as dreaming to you.
Cro. Come, be more courteous.
Jul. Do, and then ye shall be pleas'd, and have all necessaries.
Tib. Give me some Ratsbane then.
Cro. And why Ratsbane, Mounsieur?
Tib. We live like vermine here, and eat up your cheese,
Your mouldy cheese, that none but Rats would bite at;
Therefore 'tis just that Ratsbane should reward us.
We are unprofitable, and our Ploughs are broken;
There is no hope of Harvest this year, Ladies.
Jul. Ye shall have all content.
Mast. I, and we'll serve your uses.
I had rather serve hogs, there's more delight in't;
Your greedy appetites are never satisfied;
Just like hungry Camels, sleeping or waking
You chew the cud still.
Cro. By this hand we'll starve ye.