Enter Hostess and Sly
SLY.
I’ll pheeze you, in faith.
HOSTESS.
A pair of stocks, you rogue!
SLY.
Y’are a baggage; the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles: we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, paucas pallabris; let the world slide. Sessa!
HOSTESS.
You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?
SLY.
No, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed and warm thee.
HOSTESS.
I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough.
[Exit]
SLY.
Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I’ll answer him by law. I’ll not budge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly.
[Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep.]