Steph. Then thou'rt a scurvy father and a filthy brother.
Mrs Fos. Ay, ay, sir, your tongue cannot defame his reputation.
Steph. But yours can; for all the city reports what an abominable scold he has got to his wife.
O. Fos. If e'er I know thou keep'st him company,
I'll take my blessing from thee whilst I live,
And that which after me should bless thy 'state.
Steph. And I'll proclaim thy baseness to the world;
Ballads I'll make, and make 'em tavern music,
To sing thy churlish cruelty.
O. Fos. Tut, tut, these are babbles.[46]
Steph. Each festival day I'll come unto thy house,
And I will piss upon thy threshold.
O. Fos. You must be out of prison first, sir.
Steph. If e'er I live to see thee sheriff of London,
I'll gild thy painted posts[47] cum privilegio,
And kick thy sergeants.