Borachio. Borachio.
Dogberry. Pray, write down—Borachio.—Yours, sirrah?
Conrade. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is Conrade.
Dogberry. Write down—master gentleman Conrade.—Masters, do you serve God?
Conrade, Borachio. Yea, sir, we hope.
Dogberry. Write down—that they hope they serve God. And write God first; for God defend but God should go before such villains!—Masters, it is proved already that you are little better than false knaves; and it will go near to be thought so shortly. How answer you for yourselves?
Conrade. Marry, sir, we are none.
Dogberry. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you; but I will go about with him.—Come you hither, sirrah; a word in your ear, sir; I say to you, it is thought you are false knaves.
Borachio. Sir, I say to you, we are none.
Dogberry. Well, stand aside.—’Fore God, they are both in a tale. Have you writ down, that they are none?