60 Cal. [What a pied ninny’s this! Thou scurvy patch!]
I do beseech thy Greatness, give him blows,
And take his bottle from him: when that’s gone,
He shall drink nought but brine; for I’ll not show him
Where the quick freshes are.
65 Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger: interrupt the monster one word further, and, by this hand, I’ll turn my mercy out o’ doors, and make a stock-fish of thee.
Trin. Why, what did I? I did nothing. I’ll go [farther] off.
70 Ste. Didst thou not say he lied?
Ari. Thou liest.
Ste. Do I so? take thou that. [Beats him.] As you like this, give me the lie another time.