+Alex.+ You must pardon the rudeness of the gentlewomen, sir, in not unmasking; they entreated me to inform you, there are some i' th' house to whom they would by no means be laid open. +Blood.+ They are witty, they are witty. +Alex.+ But, for myself, I am now your most obedient, virtuous Alexander. +Blood.+ Obedience! hang Virtue, let her starve. Has she money? has she money? +Alex.+ Two chests of silver and two Utopian trunks[103] full of gold and jewels. +Blood.+ They are all Alexander's women, do you mark? +Sim.+ Alexander was the conqueror, sir? +Blood.+ Come, come, we'll to church presently. Prythee, Jarvis, whilst the music plays just upon the delicious close, usher in the brides, the widow, and my Moll. [_Exit +Jarvis+._ +Sim.+ I tell you true, gallants, I have seen neither of them to-day. Shall I give him the lie? +Blood.+ They are both locked up, i' faith, trimming of one another. O these women, they are so secret in their business, they will make very coxcombs of us men, and do 't at pleasure too. 'Tis well said, friends; play, play. Where's Sim? +Anc.+ How he bestirs him! +Alex.+ Yes, he will sweat by and by. +Sim.+ Here is the sign of Sim, sir. +Blood.+ Have the guests rosemary without? +Sim.+ They have _Rose_ the cookmaid without; but they say you have Mistress _Mary_ within. +Alex.+ Well said, rascal. +Blood.+ Mary's above, goodman blockhead. Call my son, Ear-lack, bid him for shame make haste. +Sim.+ He shall make haste for shame. [_Exit._ +Blood.+ I am so busied; you must bear with me, gentlemen: they leave it all to me here. +Con.+ But I will go charge some of the inferior guests, in the king's name, to fill some wine. +Blood.+ No, no, good Master Busy; we will first usher the brides. _Enter +Sim+._ +Sim.+ O gentlemen, where are you? Where are you? Where are you, gentlemen? +Omnes.+ What's the matter? +Blood.+ Where's Moll, Sim? the widow, Sim, the dainty widow? +Sim.+ There's no Moll; there is no dainty young widow; but a damnable bawd we found abed, with a face like an apple half-roasted. +Omnes.+ How's this? +Blood.+ Why, gentlemen! +Anc.+ Now it works. +Blood.+ Jarvis, you're a rogue: a cutpurse, Jarvis. Run, Sim, call my son Ear-lack: he shall put her into the spiritual court for this. +Sim.+ Nay, he has put her in there already, for we found him abed with her. +Omnes.+ Possible! +Blood.+ Ha, boys! the informer and the bawd, the bawd and the informer have got a devil betwixt them, gentlemen.