MRS FOS. May heavenly blessings guard you from all ill: Never was woman vex'd as I am still. [_Exit._ _Enter_ SPEEDWELL _and_ LAMBSKIN. WIFE. Now, good Sir Godfrey and Master Innocent. LAMB. I put my innocent case into your hands, mistress, as a simple country client thrusts his money into a lawyer's, who stands upon no great terms to take it. SPEED. We come about the old business, the sickness of the purse, lady. CLOWN. And they'd be loth to keep their beds i' th' counter, mistress; they are afraid of sergeants; Master Lambskin knows that mace[101] is a binder. LAMB. No, truly it makes me loose, for I never smell it, though it be two streets off, but it gives me a stool presently. CLOWN. Ay, you have been a loose liver always: 'tis time to look to you. SPEED. Fair lady, we are your debtors, and owe you money: Experience tells us that our bonds are forfeit, For which your husband threaten'd to arrest us; My shoulders love no such clappings; I love tobacco, But would be loth to drink in Wood Street pipes:[102] Some money we will pay ere we go hence: I speak, you see, with grave experience. WIFE. I know it well, sir. LAMB. Had not your husband (when he went about fowling For the alderman's daughter) driven away the bird, We might have bidden you to a better breakfast; But now you must take what we can set before you. _Wife._ I am content to do so: you shall find Nor me nor my husband carry a griping mind. _Enter_ ROBERT. Now, coz, where's your uncle? ROB. He's hard at hand, I saw him coming With the Lord Mayor and Aldermen. LAMB. Zounds! knight, if the mayor come, The shoulder-clappers are not far off. WIFE. O, fear not, I'll be your surety, sir. CLOWN. Do you not smell Poultry ware, Sir Godfrey? SPEED. Most horribly; I'll not endure the scent on't. WIFE. Upon my trust, none here shall do you wrong. [_To_ ROBERT.] What is his business with the aldermen? ROB. About the entertainment of the king, That means to visit London. WIFE. Saw you your sad father? ROB. I did; would I might never see man more, Since he so hates my sight! the prison door, Which gapes for comers-in, that mouth of hell, Shut me out with a churlish cold farewell: After my father's most unnatural part Was play'd on misery's stage, mine uncle comes In thunder on me, threatening with black storms To nail me to the earth, if I relieved My poor old father. _Enter_ STEPHEN. CLOWN. Here's my master now, gentlemen. STEPH. O gentlemen, you're both welcome; Have you paid this money on your bonds yet? WIFE. Not yet, sir; but here they come like honest gentlemen To take some order for it: good sweetheart, Shall it be put to me?