Host. I come amongst you, you maledictious slaves! I'll utter you all; some I'll take ready money for, and lay up the rest in the stocks: look to my box, I say!
Steph. Your box is like your belly, mine host: it draws all. Now for a suit of apparel. [Throws the dice.
Jack. At whose suit, I pray? You're out again with the threes.
Steph. Foot! I think my father threw three when I was begotten: pox on't! I know now why I am so haunted with threes.
Jack. Why, I prythee?
Steph. I met the third part of a knave as I came.
Jack. The third part of a knave? 'sfoot! what thing's that?
Steph. Why, a serjeant's yeoman, man; the supervisor himself is but a whole one, and he shares but a groat in the shilling with him.
Dick. That's but the third part indeed: but goes he no further?
Steph. No, he rests there.