T. Trusty. And who is it, sir, whom ye intend thus to spill?
R. Roister. Foolish Custance here forceth me against my will.
T. Trusty. And is there no mean your extreme wrath to slake?
She shall some amends unto your good maship make.
R. Roister. I will none amends.
T. Trusty. Is her offence so sore?
M. Merry. And he were a lout, she could have done no more.
She hath call'd him fool, and 'dressed him like a fool,
Mocked him like a fool, used him like a fool.