Happie are they, which
haue beene my Friendes: and woe vnto my Lord Chiefe
Iustice
Pist. Let Vultures vil'de seize on his Lungs also:
Where is the life that late I led, say they?
Why heere it is, welcome those pleasant dayes.
Exeunt.
Scena Quarta.
Enter Hostesse Quickly, Dol Teare-sheete, and Beadles.
Hostesse. No, thou arrant knaue: I would I might dy,
that I might haue thee hang'd: Thou hast drawne my
shoulder out of ioynt
Off. The Constables haue deliuer'd her ouer to mee:
and shee shall haue Whipping cheere enough, I warrant
her. There hath beene a man or two (lately) kill'd about
her
Dol. Nut-hooke, nut-hooke, you Lye: Come on, Ile
tell thee what, thou damn'd Tripe-visag'd Rascall, if the
Childe I now go with, do miscarrie, thou had'st better
thou had'st strooke thy Mother, thou Paper-fac'd Villaine
Host. O that Sir Iohn were come, hee would make
this a bloody day to some body. But I would the Fruite
of her Wombe might miscarry
Officer. If it do, you shall haue a dozen of Cushions
againe, you haue but eleuen now.
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