I’ll pay thee thy forty-pence, thou brawling slave
My lady’s great business belike is at end,
When you, goodman dawcock, lust for to wend.
You cod’s-head, you crack-rope, you chattering pie,
Have with ye, have at ye, your manhood to try.
[Beat and hustle him.]
Haphazard. What! hold your hands, masters. What! fie for shame, fie!
What culling, what lulling, what stir have we here?
What tugging, what lugging, what pugging by the ear.
What, part and be friends, and end all this strife.