DOLL.
Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie! Come on, I’ll tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal, an the child I now go with do miscarry, thou wert better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper-faced villain.
HOSTESS.
O the Lord, that Sir John were come! He would make this a bloody day to somebody. But I pray God the fruit of her womb miscarry!
FIRST BEADLE.
If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again; you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you both go with me, for the man is dead that you and Pistol beat amongst you.
DOLL.
I’ll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I will have you as soundly swinged for this, you bluebottle rogue, you filthy famished correctioner, if you be not swinged, I’ll forswear half-kirtles.
FIRST BEADLE.
Come, come, you she knight-errant, come.
HOSTESS.
O God, that right should thus overcome might! Well, of sufferance comes ease.
DOLL.
Come, you rogue, come, bring me to a justice.
HOSTESS.
Ay, come, you starved bloodhound.
DOLL.
Goodman death, goodman bones!
HOSTESS.
Thou atomy, thou!