ACT V.
4. SCENE IV. London. A street.
 
[Enter Beadles, dragging in Hostess Quickly and Doll Tearsheet.] 
 
HOSTESS.
 
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 BEADLE.
 
The constables have delivered her over to me; and she shall have
 
whipping-cheer enough, I warrant her:  there hath been a man
 
or two lately killed about her. 
 
DOLL.
 
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. 
 
HOSTESS.
 
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 BEADLE.
 
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. 
 
DOLL.
 
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 BEADLE.
 
Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. 
 
HOSTESS.
 
O God, that right should thus overcome might!  Well, of
 
sufferance comes ease. 
 
DOLL.
 
Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice. 
 
HOSTESS.
 
Ay, come, you starved blood-hound. 
 
DOLL.
 
Goodman death, goodman bones! 
 
HOSTESS.
 
Thou atomy, thou! 
 
DOLL.
 
Come, you thin thing; come, you rascal! 
 
FIRST BEADLE.
 
Very well.
 
 
[Exeunt.] 
 
 |