For 'tis The Sport To Have The

I Stand For Judgment: Answer: Shall I Have It?

Thou Art A Very Ragged Wart.

My Master Hath Been An Honorable Gentleman; Tricks He Hath Had In Him Which Gentlemen Have.

So Well Thy Words Become Thee As Thy Wounds.

Tam: What Begg’st Thou Then? Fond Woman, Let Me Go. Lav: ’tis Present Death I Beg; And One Thing More That Womanhood Denies My Tongue To Tell. O! Keep Me From Their Worse Than Killing Lust, And Tumble Me Into Some Loathsome Pit, Where Never Man’s Eye May Behold My Body: Do This, And Be A Charitable Murderer. Tam: So Should I Rob My Sweet Sons Of Their Fee: No, Let Them Satisfy Their Lust On Thee. Dem: Away! For Thou Hast Stay’d Us Here Too Long. Lav: No Grace! No Womanhood! Ah, Beastly Creature, The Blot And Enemy To Our General Name. Confusion Fall—