Boy. Then I must finde the table, if you do.
Fran. A whoreson, barren, wicked urchen!
Boy. Looke how you chafe! you would be angry more,
If I should tell it you.
Fran. Go to, Ile anger ye, and if you do not. 40
Boy. Why, sir, the horse that I do meane
Hath a leg both straight and cleane,
That hath nor spaven, splint, nor flawe,
But is the best that ever ye saw;
A pretie rising knee, O knee! 45