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| Enter BEADLES, dragging in MISTRESS QUICKLY and DOLL TEARSHEET
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BEADLES
enter, dragging DOLL TEARSHEET and MISTRESS QUICKLY. |
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| | MISTRESS QUICKLY |
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No, thou arrant knave. I would to God that I might die, that |
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I might have thee hanged. Thou hast drawn my shoulder out |
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of joint. |
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| MISTRESS QUICKLY |
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No, you horrible rogue! I wish to God I were dead, so I could have you hanged. You dislocated my shoulder! |
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| | FIRST BEADLE |
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The Constables have delivered her over to me, and she shall |
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have whipping cheer enough, I warrant her. There hath been |
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a man or two lately killed about her. |
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| FIRST BEADLE |
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The street cops handed her over to me, and she'll be whipped through and through, I promise. She's been involved in a couple of murders. |
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| | DOLL TEARSHEET |
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Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie! Come on, I 'll tell thee what, |
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thou damned tripe-visaged rascal: an the child I now go with |
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do miscarry, thou wert better thou hadst struck thy mother, |
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thou paper-faced villain. |
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| DOLL TEARSHEET |
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Pig, Pig! You lie! Come on! I'll tell you what, you damned flabby-faced moron: if I have a miscarriage now, you'll wish you'd hit your own mother, you pasty-faced villain! |
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| | MISTRESS QUICKLY |
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O the Lord, that Sir John were come! I would make this a |
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bloody day to somebody. But I pray God the fruit of her |
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womb might miscarry. |
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| MISTRESS QUICKLY |
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Oh God, I wish Sir John would come! He'd make somebody bleed for this. I pray to God that she has a miscarriage! |
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| | FIRST BEADLE |
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If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again; you have |
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but eleven now. Come, I charge you both go with me, for the |
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man is dead that you and Pistol beat amongst you. |
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| FIRST BEADLE |
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Well, if she does, you'll have twelve cushions on your couch again. You have only eleven now, since she's wearing one of them under her dress. I order both of you to come with me: the man that you two and Pistol beat up is dead. |
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| | DOLL TEARSHEET |
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I'll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I will have you |
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as soundly swinged for this, you bluebottle rogue, you filthy |
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famished correctioner. If you be not swinged, I'll forswear |
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half-kirtles. |
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| DOLL TEARSHEET |
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I'll tell you what, you stick-figure; I'll have you beaten soundly for this. You blue-coated rogue, you filthy, starving correctioner! If you aren't walloped for this, I'll swear off skirts. |
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| | FIRST BEADLE |
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Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. |
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| FIRST BEADLE |
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Come on, come on, you little night sinner, come on. |
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