Lodo. What?


Flam. And 't shall stick by you.


Lodo. I long for it.


Flam. This laughter scurvily becomes your face:
If you will not be melancholy, be angry. [Strikes him.
See, now I laugh too.


Marc. You are to blame: I 'll force you hence.


Lodo. Unhand me. [Exeunt Marcello and Flamineo.
That e'er I should be forc'd to right myself,
Upon a pander!


Ant. My lord.


Lodo. H' had been as good met with his fist a thunderbolt.


Gas. How this shows!