SPEND. _Ecce signum!_ here's the wedding-ring t' affirm it. SIR LIONEL. I believe the knave has drunk ipocras, He is so pleasant. SCAT. Good-morrow, gentlemen. BUB. _Tu quoque_ to all: what, shall we go to church? Come, I long to be about this gear. SIR LIONEL. Do you hear me; will you two go sleep again I take out the t'other nap; for you are both made coxcombs, and so am I. SCAT. How! coxcombs? SIR LIONEL. Yes, coxcombs. SCAT. Father, that word coxcomb goes against my stomach. BUB. And against mine; a man might ha' digested a woodcock better. SIR LIONEL. You two come now to go to church to be married; And they two come from church, and are married. BUB. How! married? I would see that man durst marry her. GERA. Why, sir, what would you do? BUB. Why, sir, I would forbid the banns. SCAT. And so would I. SIR LIONEL. Do you know that youth in satin? he's the pen that belongs to that inkhorn. BUB. How! let me see; are not you my man Gervase? STAINES. Yes, sir. _Enter a_ SERJEANT. BUB. And have you married her? STAINES. Yes, sir. BUB. And do you think you have us'd me well? STAINES. Yes, sir. BUB. O intolerable rascal! I will presently be made a justice of peace, and have thee whipped. Go, fetch a constable. STAINES. Come, y' are a flourishing ass: serjeant, take him to thee, he has had a long time of his pageantry. SIR LIONEL. Sirrah, let him go; I'll be his bail for all debts which come against him. STAINES. Reverend sir, to whom I owe the duty of a son, Which I shall ever pay in my obedience; Know, that which made him gracious in your eyes, And gilded over his imperfections, Is wasted and consumed even like ice, Which by the vehemence of heat dissolves, And glides to many rivers: so his wealth, That felt a prodigal hand, hot in expense, Melted within his gripe, and from his coffers Ran like a violent stream to other men's. What was my own, I catch'd at. SIR LIONEL. Have you your mortgage in? STAINES. Yes, sir. SIR LIONEL. Stand up: the matter is well amended. Master Geraldine, give you sufferance to this match? OLD GERA. Yes, marry do I, sir; for, since they love, I'll not have the crime lie on my head, To divide man and wife. SIR LIONEL. Why, you say well: my blessing fall upon you. WID. And upon us that love, Sir Lionel. SIR LIONEL. By my troth, since thou hast ta'en the young knave, God give thee joy of him, and may he prove A wiser man than his master. STAINES. Serjeant, why dost not carry him to prison? SER. Sir Lionel Rash will bail him. SIR LIONEL. I bail him, knave! wherefore should I bail him? No, carry him away, I'll relieve no prodigals. BUB. Good Sir Lionel, I beseech you, sir! gentlemen, I pray, make a purse for me. SER. Come, sir, come, are you begging?