SCENE IV. London. A streetEnter 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
