CORPORAL. I’ll swear ’tis past seventeen, then: doost thou not know numbers? Canst thou not cast?
SKIRMISH.
Cast? dost thou speak of my casting ith’ street?
CORPORAL.
Aye, and in the Market place.
SIMON.
Clubs, clubs, clubs!
[Simon runs in.]
FRAILTY. Aye, I knew by their shuffling, Clubs would be Trump; mass, here’s the Knave, and he can do any good upon ’em: Clubs, clubs, clubs.
[Enter Pye-board.]
CORPORAL.
O villain, thou hast opened a vein in my leg.
PYE.
How no! for shame, for shame; put up, put up.
CORPORAL. By yon blue Welkin, ’twas out of my part, George, to be hurt on the leg.