Bra. The worsser welcome:
I haue charg'd thee not to haunt about my doores:
In honest plainenesse thou hast heard me say,
My Daughter is not for thee. And now in madnesse
(Being full of Supper, and distempring draughtes)
Vpon malitious knauerie, dost thou come
To start my quiet

Rod. Sir, Sir, Sir

Bra. But thou must needs be sure,
My spirits and my place haue in their power
To make this bitter to thee

Rodo. Patience good Sir

Bra. What tell'st thou me of Robbing?
This is Venice: my house is not a Grange

Rodo. Most graue Brabantio,
In simple and pure soule, I come to you

Ia. Sir: you are one of those that will not serue God,
if the deuill bid you. Because we come to do you seruice,
and you thinke we are Ruffians, you'le haue your Daughter
couer'd with a Barbary horse, you'le haue your Nephewes
neigh to you, you'le haue Coursers for Cozens:
and Gennets for Germaines