Here's a knocking indeed. If a man were porter of Hell gate, he should have old turning the key. Knock, knock, knock. Who's there i' the name of Beelzebub? Here's a farmer that hanged himself on  the expectation of plenty — come in time. Have napkins enow about you, here you'll sweat for't. Knock, knock. Who's there, in the other devil's name? Faith, here's an equivocator that could swear in both  the scales against either scale, who committed treason enough for God's sake 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 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.