SIR LIONEL. O gentlemen, you love, you honour me. Welcome, welcome, good Master Geraldine; you have taken pains to accompany an undeserving friend. _Enter_ PHILLIS. OLD GERA. You put us to a needless labour, sir, To run and wind about for circumstance;[216] When the plain word, "I thank you," would have serv'd. SIR LIONEL. How now, wench; are the females ready yet? The time comes on upon us, and we run backward: We are so untoward in our business, We think not what we have to do, nor what we do. PHIL. I know not, sir, whether they know what to do; but I am sure they have been at church well-nigh an hour. They were afraid you had got the start of them, which made them make such haste. SIR LIONEL. Is't possible? what think you, gentlemen, Are not these wenches forward? is there not virtue in a man Can make young virgins leave their beds so soon? But is the widow gone along with them? PHIL. Yes, sir; why, she was the ringleader. SIR LIONEL. I thought as much, for she knows what belongs to't. Come, gentlemen; methinks 'tis sport to see Young wenches run to church before their husbands. _Enter_ WILL RASH. Faith, we shall make them blush for this ere night. Ah, sirrah, are you come? why, that's well-said: I marl'd indeed that all things were so quiet, Which made me think th' had not unwrapp'd their sheets; _Enter Servant, with a cloak._ And then were they at church, I hold my life: Maids think it long, till each be made a wife. Hast thou my cloak, knave? well-said, put it on; We'll after them: let me go, hasten both, Both the bridegrooms forward; we'll walk a little Softly on afore. But see, see, if they be not come To fetch us now! We come, we come. Bid them return, and save themselves this labour. _Enter_ SPENDALL, STAINES, GERALDINE, WIDOW, GERTRUDE, _and_ JOYCE. W. RASH. Now have I a quartan ague upon me. SIR LIONEL. Why, how now! why come you from church to kneel thus publicly? what's the matter? GERA. We kneel, sir, for your blessing. SIR LIONEL. How! my blessing? Master Geraldine, is not that your son? OLD GERA. Yes, sir; and that, I take it, is your daughter. SIR LIONEL. I suspect knavery. What are you? Why do you kneel hand-in-hand with her? STAINES. For a fatherly blessing too, sir. SIR LIONEL. Heyday! 'tis palpable, I am gull'd, and my sons Scattergood and Bubble fooled. You are married. SPEND. Yes, sir, we are married. SIR LIONEL. More villany! everything goes the wrong way. SPEND. We shall go the right way anon, I hope. SIR LIONEL. Yes, marry shall you; you shall e'en to the Compter again, and that's the right way for you. WID. O, you are wrong; The prison that shall hold him are these arms. SIR LIONEL. I do fear that I shall turn stinkard, I do smell such a matter. You are married then? _Enter_ SCATTERGOOD _and_ BUBBLE.