2d. Ser. Whither will you go with your calf on your back, sir?
Sir J. Wor. Now, more knavery yet?
Strange. Prythee, forbear, or I shall do thee mischief.
By your leave, here is some sad to your merriment.
Know you this captain?
Omnes. Yes, very well.
Kath. O sister, here's the villain slander'd me.
Strange. You see he cannot stand to't.
Abra. Is he hurt in the arm, too?
Strange. Yes.
Abra. Why, then, by God's-lid, thou art a base rogue. I knew I should live to tell thee so.
L. Nin. Sir Abraham, I say!