Tho. Flesh! not I: are you, Costar?
Cost. Wounds! not I.
Kite. What! not listed? ha! ha! ha! a very good jest, i'faith.
Cost. Come, Tummus, we'll go home.
Tho. Ay, ay, come.
Kite. Home! for shame, gentlemen; behave yourselves better before your captain. Dear Tummas, honest Costar!
Tho. No, no! we'll be gone.
Kite. Nay, then, I command you to stay: I place you both centinels in this place for two hours, to watch the motion of St. Mary's clock you, and you the motion of St. Chad's; and he, that dares stir from his post till he be relieved, shall have my sword in his guts the next minute.
Plume. What's the matter, serjeant? I'm afraid you are too rough with these gentlemen.
Kite. I'm too mild, sir; they disobey command, sir; and one of them should be shot, for an example to the other.