SCENE IV
London. A street.Enter Beadles, dragging in HOSTESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET.
Host.
No, thou arrant knave; I would to
God that I might die, that I might have thee
hanged: thou hast drawn my shoulder out of
joint.
First Bead.
The constables have delivered
her over to me; and she shall have whippingcheer
enough, I warrant her: there hath been
a man or two lately killed about her.
Dol.
Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come
on; I'll tell thee what, thou damned tripe
visaged rascal, an the child I now go with do
miscarry, thou wert better thou hadst struck
thy mother, thou paper-faced villain.
Host.
O the Lord, that Sir John were
come! he would make this a bloody day to
somebody. But I pray God the fruit of her
womb miscarry!
First Bead.
If it do, you shall have a dozen
of cushions again; you have but eleven now.
Come, I charge you both go with me; for the
man is dead that you and Pistol beat amongst
you.
Dol.
I'll tell you what, you thin man in a
censer, I will have you as soundly swinged for
this,--you blue-bottle rogue, you filthy famished
correctioner, if you be not swinged, I 'll
forswear half-kirtles.
First Bead.
Come, come, you she knight
errant, come.
Host.
O God, that right should thus over
come might! Well, of sufferance comes ease,
Dol.
Come, you rogue, come; bring me to (30)
a justice.
Host.
Ay, come, you starved blood-hound.
Dol.
Goodman death, goodman bones!
Host.
Thou atomy, thou!
Dol.
Come, you thin thing; come, you
rascal.
First Bead.
Very well. [Exeunt.
