No More Learning

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




SCENE V.
Westminster.