SERV.-MAN. Nothing for a man, but much for a beast. I think him lunatic; for he demands What plate of his is stirring i' the house! He calls your men his butlers, cooks, and stewards: Kisses your women, and makes exceeding much Of your coachman's wife. JUS. TUT. Then he's a gentleman, for 'tis a true note of a gentleman to make much of other men's wives: bring him up. Ah, sirrah, makes he much of your coachman's wife? This gear will run a-wheels then shortly: a man may make much more of another man's wife than he can do of's own. LADY SOM. How much, brother? JUS. TUT. A man may make with ease a punk, a child, a bastard, a cuckold, of another man's wife all at a clap; and that is much, I think. _Enter_ SERVING-MAN _and_ THROAT. SERV.-MAN. That's my lady. THROAT. For that thou first hast brought me to her sight, I here create thee clerk of the kitchen: No man shall beg it from thee. SERV.-MAN. Sure, the fellow's mad. LADY SOM. What would you, sir? I guess your long profession[425] By your scant suit; your habit seems to turn Your inside outward to me; y'are, I think, Some turner of the law. THROAT. Law is my living, And on that ancient mould I wear this outside: Suit upon suit wastes some, yet makes me thrive, First law, then gold, then love; and then we wive. JUST. TUT. A man of form, like me. But what's your business? LADY SOM. Be brief, good sir; what makes this bold intrusion? THROAT. Intrude I do not, for I know the law; It is the rule that squares out all our actions, Those actions bring in coin, coin gets me friends, Your son-in-law hath law at's fingers' ends. LADY SOM. My son-in-law! THROAT. Madam, your son-in-law. Mother, I come (be glad I call you so), To make a gentle breach into your favour, And win your approbation of my choice: Your cherry-ripe sweet daughter (so renown'd For beauty, virtue and a wealthy dower) I have espous'd. LADY SOM. How? you espouse my daughter? THROAT. _Noverint universi_, the laws of heaven, Of nature, church, and chance, have made her mine; Therefore deliver her by these presents. JUST. TUT. How's this? made her yours, sir, _per quam regulam_? Nay, we are letter'd, sir, as well as you, _Redde rationem; per quam regulam?_ THROAT. _Fæminæ[426] ludificantur viros:_ By that same rule these lips have taken seizin: Tut, I do all by statute-law and reason. LADY SOM. Hence, you base knave! you petty-fogging groom! Clad in old ends, and piec'd with brokery: You wed my daughter! JUST. TUT. You, sir Ambi-dexter! A sumner's[427] son, and learn'd in Norfolk wiles: Some common bail or counter-lawyer, Marry my niece! your half-sleeves shall not carry her.