BEARD. And stays the curate? What's here? knock'd down, and blood of men let out? Must men in darkness bleed? then, Erebus, look big, And, Boreas, blow the fire of all my rage Into his nose. Night, thou art a whore, Small-shanks a rogue; and is my wench took from me? Sure, I am gull'd; this was no cockatrice. I never saw her, before this daylight peep'd: What, dropp'st thou, head? this surely is the heir, And mad Will Small-shanks lay in ambuscado, To get her now from me. Beard! Lieutenant Beard, Thou art an ass; what a dull slave was I, That all this while smelt not her honesty! Pate, I do not pity thee: hadst thou brains, Lieutenant Beard had got this wealthy heir From all these rogues. Blood! to be thus o'er-reach'd, In pate and wench! revenge! revenge! come up, And with thy curled locks cling to my beard. Small-shanks, I will betray thee. I will[423] trudge To Saint John Street, to inform the Lady Sommerfield, Where thou art; I will prevent the match. Thou art to Fleet Street gone, revenge shall follow; And my incensed wrath shall, like great thunder, Disperse thy hopes and thy brave wife asunder. [_Exit._ _Enter_ LADY SOMMERFIELD _and_ JUSTICE TUTCHIN. JUS. TUT. Say as I say, widow; the wench is gone, But I know whither stol'n she is; well-- I know by whom; say as I say, widow. I have been drinking hard--why, say so too, Old men they can be fine with small ado. The law is not offended. I had no punk; Nor in an alehouse have I made me drunk. The statute is not broke[424], I have the skill To drink by law; then say as I say still. LADY SOM. To what extremes doth this licentious time Hurry unstayed youth! Nor gods nor laws, Whose penal scourges are enough to save Ev'n damn'd fiends, can in this looser age Confine unbounded youth. Who durst presume To steal my youth's delight, my age's hope, Her father's heir and the last noble stem Of all her ancestors? fear they or gods or laws? JUS. TUT. I say as you say, sister; but for the laws, There are so many, that men do stand in awe Of none at all. Take heed they steal not you. Who woos a widow with a fair full moon Shall surely speed; beware of full moons, widow: Will Small-shanks has your daughter--no word but mum? My warrant you shall have, when time shall come. LADY SOM. Your warrant? JUS. TUT. Aye, my warrant, widow; My warrant can stretch far; no more, but so, 'Twill serve to catch a knave or fetch a doe. _Enter_ SERVING-MAN. SERV.-MAN. Here's a gentleman much desirous to see you, madam. LADY SOM. What is he for a man?