Lus. No matter, let him reel to hell.
Ven. But being so full of liquor, I fear he will put out all the fire.
Lus. Thou art a mad beast.[110]
Ven. And leave none to warm your lordship's golls[111] withal; for he that dies drunk falls into hell-fire like a bucket of water—qush, qush!
Lus. Come, be ready: nake your swords:[112] think of your wrongs; this slave has injured you.
Ven. Troth, so he has, and he has paid well for't.
Lus. Meet with him now.
Ven. You'll bear us out, my lord?
Lus. Puh! am I a lord for nothing, think you? quickly now!
Ven. Sa, sa, sa, thump—there he lies.