ANTH. Sent me for him? why, sir, you sent not me, I neither went for him, nor for the parson. I am glad to see your worship is so merry. [_Knocking._ PIS. Hence, you forgetful dolt! Look down who knocks[543]. [_Exit_ ANTHONY. _Enter_ FRISCO. FRIS. O master, hang yourself! nay, never stay for a sessions. Master Vandal, confess yourself! desire the people to pray for you, for your bride she is gone: Laurentia is run away. VAN. O de diabolo, de mal-fortune! is Maitresse Laurentia gan awech. PIS. First tell me that I am a lifeless corse! Tell me of doomsday, tell me what you will, Before you say Laurentia is gone! MAR. Master Vandal, how do you feel yourself? What, hang the head? fie, man! for shame, I say: Look not so heavy on your marriage-day. HAR. O, blame him not: his grief is quickly spied, That is a bridegroom, and yet wants his bride. _Enter_ HEIGHAM, LAURENTIA, BALSARO, and ANTHONY. BAL. Master Pisaro and gentlemen, good day to all. According, sir, as you requested me, This morn I made repair unto the Tower, Whereas Laurentia now was married: And, sir, I did expect your coming thither; Yet in your absence we perform'd the rites. Therefore, I pray, sir, bid God give them joy. HEIGH. He tells you true; Laurentia is my wife. Who, knowing that her sisters must be wed, Presuming also that you'll bid her welcome, Are come to bear them company to church. HAR. You come too late: the marriage rites are done: Yet welcome twenty-fold unto the feast. How say you, sirs, did I not tell you true, These wenches would have us, and none of you? LAUR. I cannot say for these; but on my life This loves a cushion better than a wife. MAR. And reason, too; that cushion fell out right, Else hard had been his lodging all last night. BAL. Master Pisaro, why stand you speechless thus? PIS. Anger and extreme grief enforceth me. Pray, sir, who bad you meet me at the Tower? BAL. Who, sir? your man, sir--Mouche--here he is. ANTH. Who? I, sir? mean you me? you are a jesting man. PIS. Thou art a villain, a dissembling wretch, Worser than Anthony, whom I kept last! Fetch me an officer! I'll hamper you, And make you sing at Bridewell for this trick: For well he hath deserv'd it, that would swear He went not forth a-doors at my appointment. ANTH. So swear I still: I went not forth to-day. BAL. Why, arrant liar, wert thou not with me? PIS. How say you, Master Brown? went he not forth? BROWN. He, or his likeness did, I know not whether. PIS. What likeness can there be besides himself?