M. Saw. And prick thine own eyes out. Go, peevish fools! [Exeunt Old Banks, Ratcliffe, and Countrymen.
Cud. Ningle, you had liked to have spoiled all with your bow-ings. I was glad to have put ’em off with one of my dog-tricks on a sudden; I am bewitched, little Cost me-nought, to love thee—a pox,—that morris makes me spit in thy mouth.—I dare not stay; farewell, ningle; you whoreson dog’s nose!—Farewell, witch! [Exit.
Dog. Bow, wow, wow, wow.
M. Saw. Mind him not, he is not worth thy worrying;
Run at a fairer game: that foul-mouthed knight,
Scurvy Sir Arthur, fly at him, my Tommy,
And pluck out’s throat.
Dog. No, there’s a dog already biting,—’s conscience.
M. Saw. That’s a sure bloodhound. Come, let’s home and play;
Our black work ended, we’ll make holiday. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. A Bedroom in Carter’s House. A bed thrust forth, with Frank in a slumber.
Enter Katherine.
Kath. Brother, brother! so sound asleep? that’s well.