If she be but his doxy and not his wife
We’ll filch her of him.
SECOND TIPPLER
Ay, he shall have a taste of the knife,
For he is but a foul, ill-favored lout,
But the wench is sweet flesh past all doubt.
Be she his doxy, I know where this night I shall lie.
Will aid me?
FIRST TIPPLER
In the throat, yea, that will I.