Original
Modern English
No, thou arrant knave; I would to God that I might die, that I might have thee hanged: thou hast drawn my shoulder out of joint.
No, you dirty scoundrel; I wish to God I could die, just so I could see you hanged: you’ve pulled my shoulder out of place.
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 killed about her.
The constables handed her over to me; and she’ll get plenty of whipping, I promise you: there’ve been one or two men recently killed around her.
Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I ’ll tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal, an the child I now go with do miscarry, thou wert better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper-faced villain.
Liar, liar, you’re full of it. Come on; I’ll tell you what, you damn ugly-faced scoundrel, if the child I carry now dies, you’d be better off having struck your own mother, you paper-faced villain.
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!
Oh Lord, if only Sir John were here! He’d make this a bloody day for someone. But I pray God the child in her womb dies!
If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again; you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you both go with me; for the man is dead that you and Pistol beat amongst you.
If it does, you’ll get a dozen cushions instead of the eleven you have now. Come on, I order you both to go with me; because the man you and Pistol beat is dead.
I’ll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I will have you as soundly swinged for this,--you blue-bottle rogue, you filthy famished correctioner, if you be not swinged, I’ll forswear half-kirtles.
I’ll tell you what, you skinny man in a censer, I will have you whipped properly for this—you filthy, hungry jailer. If you aren’t whipped, I’ll swear off half of my skirts.
Come, come, you she knight-errant, come.
Come on, come on, you lady knight-errant, come.
O God, that right should thus overcome might! Well, of sufferance comes ease.
Oh God, that right should triumph over might! Well, from suffering comes relief.
Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice.
Come on, you scoundrel, come; take me to a justice.
Ay, come, you starved blood-hound.
Yes, come on, you starved bloodhound.
Goodman death, goodman bones!
Damn death, damn bones!
Thou atomy, thou!
You skeleton, you!
Come, you thin thing; come you rascal.
Come on, you skinny thing; come on, you scoundrel.
Very well.
Alright then.