not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan: hang him,
foul collier!
Mar. Get him to say his prayers, good Sir Toby, get
him to pray.
115
Mal. My prayers, minx!
[Mar.] No, I warrant you, he will not hear of godliness.
Mal. Go, hang yourselves all! you are idle shallow
things: I am not of your element: you shall know more
hereafter. [Exit.