1 No, thou arrant knave; I would to God that I might 2 die, that I might have thee hanged: thou hast 3 drawn my shoulder out of joint.
4 The constables have delivered her over to me; and 5 she shall have whipping-cheer enough, I warrant 6 her: there hath been a man or two lately killed about her.
7 Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I 'll tell 8 thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal, an 9 the child I now go with do miscarry, thou wert 10 better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou 11 paper-faced villain.
12 O the Lord, that Sir John were come! he would make 13 this a bloody day to somebody. But I pray God the 14 fruit of her womb miscarry!
15 If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again; 16 you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you both go 17 with me; for the man is dead that you and Pistol 18 beat amongst you.
19 I'll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I 20 will have you as soundly swinged for this,--you 21 blue-bottle rogue, you filthy famished correctioner, 22 if you be not swinged, I'll forswear half-kirtles.
23 Come, come, you she knight-errant, come.
24 O God, that right should thus overcome might! 25 Well, of sufferance comes ease.