Yet could not equivocate to heaven. O, come in, equivocator. Knock, knock, knock! Who's there? Faith, here's an English tailor come hither, for stealing out of a French hose: come in tailor; here you may roast your goose. Knock, knock; never at quiet! What are you? But this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil-porter it no further: I had thought to have let in some of all professions that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire. Anon, anon! I pray you, remember the porter.