The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it.
Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain:
I hope you do not mean to cheat me so.
Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch! —Come, Dromio, let us go.
75 [Dro. S.] ‘Fly pride,’ says the peacock: mistress, that you know.
[Exeunt] Ant. S. and Dro. S.
Cour. Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad,
Else would he never so demean himself.
A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats,
And for the same he promised me a chain: