RED. And at Ca-Ca-Canterbury.
JOHN. And at the gallows! zounds, this frets my soul.
RED. But I c-could not f-find your s-s-sister the La-Lady
Fau-Fauconbridge.
JOHN. You stammering slave, hence! chat among your daws.
Come ye to mad me? while the rogue your father—
Enter PORTER.
RED. My f-fa-father?
JOHN. Porter, you damned slave.
POR. Is't midsummer: do you begin to rave?
JOHN. Hark, how the traitor flouts me to my teeth!
I would entreat your knaveship, let me forth,
For fear I dash your brains out with the keys.
What is become of Gloster and my garments?
POR. Alas, in your apparel Gloster's gone,
I let him out even now; I am undone.