C. FRED. This is the very priest that married me: Is it not, sister? _Enter_ NEVILL, _like the Parson too_. NEV. No. ABRA. Lord bless us! here is conjuring! Lend me your aqua-vitæ bottle, good mother. SIR J. WOR. Heyday! The world's turn'd upside down. I have heard and seen Two or three benefices to one priest, or more, But two priests to one benefice ne'er before. PEN. Married not you the earl? PAR. _Bona fide_, no. SIR J. WOR. You did, then? NEV. Yes. C. FRED. I have the privilege, then? SIR J. WOR. Right, you were married first. SCUD. Sir John, you doat, This is a devil in a parson's coat. [NEVILL _puts off the Priest's weeds, and has a devil's robe under_. OMNES. A pretty emblem! NEV. Who married her, or would have caus'd her marry, To any man but this, no better was; Let circumstances be examined. Yet here's one more: and now I hope you all Perceive my marrying not canonical. [_Slips off his devil's weeds._ OMNES. Nevill, whoop! C. FRED. Heart! what a deal of knavery a priest's cloak can hide. If it be not one of the honestest, friendliest cozenages that 'ere I saw, I am no lord. KATH. Life! I am not married, then, in earnest. NEV. So, Mistress Kate, I kept you for myself. SIR J. WOR. It boots not to be angry. SIR INN. _and_ LADY. No, faith, Sir John. _Enter_ STRANGE, _with_ POUTS _on his back_. 2D. SER. Whither will you go with your calf on your back, sir? SIR J. WOR. Now, more knavery yet? STRANGE. Prythee, forbear, or I shall do thee mischief. By your leave, here is some sad to your merriment. Know you this captain? OMNES. Yes, very well. KATH. O sister, here's the villain slander'd me. STRANGE. You see he cannot stand to't. ABRA. Is he hurt in the arm, too? STRANGE. Yes. ABRA. Why, then, by God's-lid, thou art a base rogue. I knew I should live to tell thee so. L. NIN. Sir Abraham, I say! OMNES. Heaven is just. CAPT. POUTS. What a rogue are you! Is this the surgeon you would carry me to? STRANGE. Confess your slander, and I will, I swear. CAPT. POUTS. Nay, 'tis no matter, I'll cry quittance with you. Forgive me, Mistress Kate, and know, all people, I lied not with her, but belied her once; And to my recantation that same soldier Enforc'd my hand. STRANGE. Yes, here 'tis, Mistress Kate. [_They all look on the paper._ CAPT. POUTS. I see now how I am cheated. Love him well. He has redeem'd your honour with his sword. Sir J. Wor. But where is Strange my son? O, were he here, He should be married new to make all sure. KATH. O my divining spirit, he's gone to sea! CAPT. POUTS. This cunning in her is exceeding good. Your son--your husband Strange is murdered. OMNES. How?