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.

26   Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice.

27   Ay, come, you starved blood-hound.

28   Goodman death, goodman bones!

29   Thou atomy, thou!

30   Come, you thin thing; come you rascal.

31   Very well.