JUS. TUT. Is he gone? [_Exit_ PUFF. I would he durst ha' stood to this a while. Well, I shall catch him in a narrow room, Where neither of us can flinch: if I do, I'll make him dance-a trenchmoor[378] to my sword. Come, I'll along with you to the widow. We will not be outbraved, take my word, We'll not be wrong'd, while I can draw a sword. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ THROAT _and two other_ GENTLEMEN. THROAT. Let the coach stay at Shoe Lane end; be ready. Let the boot stand open; and when she's in, Hurry towards Saint Giles's in the Fields, As if the devil himself were waggoner. Now for an arm of oak and heart of steel, To bear away the wench, to get a wife, A gentlewoman, a maid--nay, which is more, An honest maid and, which is most of all, A rich and honest maid: O Jove! O Jove! For a man to wed such a wife as this Is to dwell in the suburbs of heaven. 1ST GENT. Is she so exquisite? THROAT. Sir, she is rich, And a great heir. 2D GENT. 'Tis the more dangerous. THROAT. Dangerous? Lord! where be those gallant spirits? The time has been, when scarce an honest woman, Much less a wench, could pass an inn-of-court, But some of the fry would have been doing With her. I knew the day, when Shreds, a tailor, Coming once late by an inn-of-chancery, Was laid along, and muffled in his cloak, His wife took in, stitch'd-up, turn'd out again, And he persuaded all was but in jest. Tut, those brave boys are gone; these which are left Are wary lads, live poring on their books, And give their linen to their laundresses; By tail they now can save their purses:[379] I knew, when every gallant had his man, But now a twelvepenny weekly laundress Will serve the turn to half a dozen of them. _Enter_ DASH. Here comes my man; what news? DASH. As you would wish; The Lady Sommerfield is come to town. Her horses yet are walking, and her men say Her only daughter is conveyed away-- No man knows how. Now to it, master! You and your servant Dash are made for ever, If you but stick to it now. THROAT. Gentlemen, Now show yourselves at full, and not a man But shares a fortune with me, if I speed. _Enter_ WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS, BOUTCHER, THOMAS SMALL-SHANKS, FRANCES, _and_ BEARD _with_ _a torch_. 1ST GENT. Tut, fear not us; be sure you run away, And we'll perform the quarrel. THROAT. Stand close: they come. W. SMALL. Art sure he will be here? FRAN. Most sure. W. SMALL. Beard. BEARD. Sir. W. SMALL. Bear up the torch, and keep your way apace Directly to the Savoy. T. SMALL. Have you a licence? Look to that, brother, before you marry, For fear the parson lose his benefice.