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 hang'd. 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 kill'd about her.
DOLL. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I'll tell thee
what,
thou damn'd tripe-visag'd rascal, an the child I now go with
do
miscarry, thou wert better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou
paper-fac'd 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 swing'd for this--you blue-bottle rogue, you
filthy
famish'd correctioner, if you be not swing'd, 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 starv'd bloodhound.
DOLL. Goodman death, goodman bones!
HOSTESS. Thou atomy, thou!
DOLL. Come, you thin thing! come, you rascal!
FIRST BEADLE. Very well. Exeunt