_Ped._ Stand to your guard, Sir, all the devils extant Are broke upon us like a cloud of thunder; There are more women marching hitherward, In rescue of my Mistriss, than e'er turn'd tail At _Sturbridge_ Fair, and I believe, as fiery. _Jaq._ The forlorn hope's led by a Tanner's wife, I know her by her Hide, a desperate woman: She flead her Husband in her youth, and made Raynes of his Hide to ride the parish. Take 'em all together, They are a genealogy of Jennets, gotten And born thus by the boisterous breath of Husbands; They serve sure, a[n]d are swift to catch occasion, (I mean their foes or Husbands) by the forelocks, And there they hang like favours; cry they can But more for Noble spight, than fear: and crying Like the old Giants that were foes to heaven, They heave ye stool on stool, and fling main Pot-lids Like massie Rocks, dart Ladles, tossing Irons, And Tongs like Thunderbolts, till overlaid, They fall beneath the weight; yet still aspiring At those Emperious [Codsheads] that would tame 'em. There's ne'r a one of these, the worst and weakest, (Chuse where you will,) but dare attempt the raising, Against the soveraign peace of Puritans, A _May_-pole and a Morris, maugre mainly Their zeal, and Dudgeon-daggers: and yet more, Dares plant a stand of batt'ring Ale against 'em, And drink 'em out o'th' parish. _Soph._ Lo you fierce _Petruchio_, this comes of your impatience. _Ped._ There's one brought in the Bears against the Canons Of the Town, made it good, and fought 'em. _Jaq._ Another to her everlasting fame, erected Two Ale-houses of ease: the Quarter-Sessions Running against her roundly; in which business Two of the disanullers lost their night-caps: A third stood excommunicate by the cudgel; The Constable, to her eternal glory, Drunk hard, and was converted, and she victor. _Ped._ Then are they victualed with Pies and Puddings, (The trappings of good Stomachs) noble Ale The true defender, Sausages, and smoak'd ones, If need be, such as serve for Pikes; and Pork, (Better the Jews ne'r hated:) here and there A bottle of _Metheglin_, a stout _Britain_ That will stand to 'em; what else they want, they war for. _Petru._ Come to council. _Soph._ Now you must grant conditions, or the Kingdom Will have no other talke but this. _Petron._ Away then, and let's advise the best. _Soph._ Why do you tremble? _Mor._ Have I liv'd thus long to be knockt o'th' head, With half a Washing-beetle: pray be wise, Sir. _Petru._ Come, something I'll do, but what it is, I know not. _Soph._ To Council then, and let's avoid their follies. Guard all the doors, or we shall not have a Cloak left. [_Exeunt._ _Scaena_ [_Sexta._] _Enter_ Petronius, Petruchio, Moroso, Sophocles, _and_ Tranio. _Petro._ I am indifferent, though I must confess, I had rather see her carted. _Tra._ No more of that, Sir.