Brai. 'Tis very good, sir. Mat. Here, Sir, here's my jewel. Bob. [returning.] And here are my stockings. Brai. Well, gentlemen, I'll procure you this warrant presently; but who will you have to serve it? Mat. That's true, captain: that must be considered. Bob. Body O' me, I know not; 'tis service of danger. Brai. Why, you were best get one O' the varlets of the city, a serjeant: I'll appoint you one, if you please. Mat. Will you, sir? why, we can wish no better. Bob. We'll leave it to you, sir. [Exeunt Bob. and Mat. Brai. This is rare! Now will I go and pawn this cloak of the justice's man's at the broker's, for a varlet's suit, and be the varlet myself; and get either more pawns, or more money of Downright, for the arrest. [Exit. SCENE VIII.-The Lane before COB'S House. Enter KNOWELL. Know. Oh, here it is; I am glad I have found it now; Ho! who is within here? Tib. [within.] I am within, sir; what's your pleasure? Know. To know who is within beside yourself. Tib. Why, sir, you are no constable, I hope? Know. O, fear you the constable? then I doubt not, You have some guests within deserve that fear; I'll fetch him straight. Enter TIB. Tib. O' God's name, sir! Know. Go to: come tell me, is not young Knowell here? Tib. Young Knowell! I know none such, sir, o' mine honesty. Know. Your honesty, dame! it flies too lightly from you. There is no way but fetch the constable. Tib. The constable! the man is mad, I think. [Exit, and claps to the door. Enter Dame KITELY and CASH. Cash. Ho! who keeps house here? Know. O, this is the female copesmate of my son: Now shall I meet him straight. Dame K. Knock, Thomas, hard. Cash. Ho, goodwife! Re-enter TIB. Tib. Why, what's the matter with you? Dame K. Why, woman, grieves it you to ope your door? Belike you get something to keep it shut. Tib. What mean these questions, pray ye? Dame K. So strange you make it! is not my husband here? Know. Her husband! Dame K. My tried husband, master Kitely? Tib. I hope he needs not to be tried here. Dame K. No, dame, he does it not for need, but pleasure. Tib. Neither for need nor pleasure is he here. Know. This is but a device to balk me withal: Enter KITELY, muffled in his cloak. Soft, who is this? 'tis not my son disguised?