Ford. Ile Prat-her: Out of my doore, you Witch,
you Ragge, you Baggage, you Poulcat, you Runnion,
out, out: Ile coniure you, Ile fortune-tell you

Mist.Page. Are you not asham'd?
I thinke you haue kill'd the poore woman

Mist.Ford. Nay he will do it, 'tis a goodly credite
for you

Ford. Hang her witch

Eua. By yea, and no, I thinke the o'man is a witch indeede:
I like not when a o'man has a great peard; I spie
a great peard vnder his muffler

Ford. Will you follow Gentlemen, I beseech you follow:
see but the issue of my iealousie: If I cry out thus
vpon no traile, neuer trust me when I open againe

Page. Let's obey his humour a little further:
Come Gentlemen

Mist.Page. Trust me he beate him most pittifully

Mist.Ford. Nay by th' Masse that he did not: he beate
him most vnpittifully, me thought

Mist.Page. Ile haue the cudgell hallow'd, and hung