Our windows are broke down in every street
[85] And we for fear compell’d to shut our shops.
Enter Serving-men, in skirmish, with bloody pates.
[♦] King. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,
To hold your slaughtering hands and keep the peace.
Pray, uncle Gloucester, mitigate this strife.
[♦] First Serv. Nay, if we be forbidden stones, we’ll fall
90 to it with our teeth.
Sec. Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. [Skirmish again.
Glou. You of my household, leave this peevish broil