Blood. Here's another madman.
Anc. Harkee in your ear, you must deliver that box to me.
Ran. Harkee in hur t'other ear, hur will not deliver hur, and hur were nine-and-forty Ancients, and five-and-fourscore Flags.
Anc. Let my foe write mine epitaph if I tear not my birthright from thy bosom? [Draws.
Sim. Gentlemen, there's Aligant[108] i' th' house, pray set no more abroach.
Ran. Nay, let hur come with hur pack of needles, Randalls can pox and bob as well as hur, hur warrant hur.
Blood. What box is that? I should know that box.
Alex. I will resolve you, sir; keep them asunder.
Anc. You will restore that box?
Ran. Hur will not restore hur: 'twas Mary Ploodhounds gave hur the box; Randalls have married Mary Ploodhounds, and gulled Ancient, mark hur now.