Isab. For I'le so handle you.
Fran. That's it I look for.
Lan. Afore thou dream.
Shor. Have you done?
Isab. Go on Sir, and follow if you dare.
Fran. If I do not, hang me.
Lan. 'Tis all thine own boy, an 'twere a million, god a mercy Sack, when would small Beer have done this?
Knocking within. Enter Valentine.
Val. Whose that that knocks and bounces, what a Devil ails you, is hell broke loose, or do you keep an Iron mill?
Enter a Servant.