_Bar_.
Nay take it to ye, There's no avoiding it, 'tis somewhat tough Sir, But a good stomach will endure it easily, The sum is but a thousand duckets Sir.
_Ars_.
A Capias from my Surgeon, and my Silk-man!
_Bar_.
Your carefull makers, but they have mar'd your diet.
Stir not, your Swords are gone: there's no avoiding me, And these are Algazeirs, do you hear that passing bell?
_Lop_.
A strong Citation, bless me!
_Bar_.
Out with your Beads, Curate, The Devil's in your dish: bell, book, and Candle.
_Lop_.
A warrant to appear before the Judges!
I must needs rise, and turn to th' wall.
_Bar_.
Ye need not, Your fear I hope will make ye find your Breeches.
_All_.
We are betrai'd.
_Bar_.
Invited do not wrong me, Fall to, good Guests, you have diligent men about ye, Ye shall want nothing that may persecute ye, These will not see ye start; Have I now found ye?
Have I requited ye? You fool'd the Lawyer, And thought it meritorious to abuse him, A thick ram-headed knave: you rid, you spur'd him, And glorified your wits, the more ye wronged him; Within this hour ye shall have all your Creditours, A second dish of new debts, come upon ye, And new invitements to the whip, _Don Diego_, And Excommunications for the learned Curate, A Masque of all your furies shall dance to ye.
_Ars_.
You dare not use us thus?
_Bar_.
You shall be bob'd, Gentlemen, Stir, and as I have a life, ye goe to prison, To prison, without pitie instantly, Before ye speak another word to prison.
I have a better Guard without, that waits; Do you see this man, _Don_ Curate? 'tis a Paratour That comes to tell ye a delightfull story Of an old whore ye have, and then to teach ye What is the penaltie; Laugh at me now Sir, What Legacie would ye bequeath me now, (And pay it on the nail?) to fly my fury?
_Lop_.
O gentle Sir.
_Bar_.
Do'st thou hope I will be gentle, Thou foolish unconsiderate Curate?
_Lop_.
Let me goe Sir.
_Bar_.
I'le see thee hang first.
_Lop_.
And as I am a true Vicar, Hark in your ear, hark softly--
_Bar_.
No, no bribery.
I'le have my swindge upon thee; Sirra? Rascal?
You Lenten Chaps, you that lay sick, and mockt me, Mockt me abominably, abused me lewdly, I'le make thee sick at heart, before I leave thee, And groan, and dye indeed, and be worth nothing, Not worth a blessing, nor a Bell to knell for thee, A sheet to cover thee, but that thou Stealest, Stealest from the Merchant, and the Ring he was buried with Stealest from his Grave, do you smell me now?
_Die_.
Have mercy on me!
_Bar_.
No Psalm of mercy shall hold me from hanging thee.
How do ye like your Breakfast? 'tis but short, Gentlemen, But sweet and healthfull; Your punishment, and yours, Sir, For some near reasons that concern my Credit, I will take to my self.
_Am_.
Doe Sir, and spare not: I have been too good a wife, and too obedient, But since ye dare provoke me to be foolish--
_Lea_.
She has, yes, and too worthie of your usage, Before the world I justifie her goodness, And turn that man, that dares but taint her vertues, To my Swords point; that lying man, that base man, Turn him, but face to face, that I may know him.
_Bar_.
What have I here?
_Lea_.
A Gentleman, a free man, One that made trial of this Ladies constancie, And found it strong as fate; leave off your fooling, For if you follow this course, you will be Chronicled.