At that moment his worshipful worship was fast asleep, all save the nose, which buzzed as if it were filled with flies. His slumbers were so deep that his worthy rib might have been taken from his side without his knowledge, and a noted shrew given to some man. But, gentle reader, why hast thou broken into the Mayor’s house, and entered the private chamber of him and his dear spouse? Let us make a speedy retreat, else we may be tried for burglary. The house stood solitary, and at the door two halberds were bravely stationed, either to assist or repel thieves or murderers. The guards knocked; after a short interval, voices in loud dispute, were heard, and a window on the second story was thrown up. A long bright sword, slowly peeped out of it, very politely inquiring what was wanted! A female head (the gender was known, _a priori_ by the cap on it; and _a posteriori_ by the volubility of the tongue within it) followed, and after reconnoitering for some length of time, good substantial shoulders ventured out to assist the head. “Madam,” humbly said one of the guards, “is my Lord Mayor at liberty, to examine this man, whom he gave orders to take into custody and bring hither?” The sword was brought into a dangerous line with the anxious inquirer’s head; but he started more at the shrill voice which greeted him. “Impudent rascals, begone. At liberty! No,” and she exhausted a pretty good stock of abuse which she had acquired with all a woman’s skill, and expended with all a woman’s generosity. “Yes, yes,” exclaimed another voice, without a head however, “I am at liberty.” The sword was drawn in, and it remains a matter of doubt until this day, whether it was not called upon to exercise its functions against the last speaker. At least the noise of a considerable bustle was made, which ended in the door being opened; and Sir William, with the guards, was shewn into a room by a servant boy. An hour had almost elapsed before the wig had been arranged, and the spectacles disposed on the frontispiece of the Mayor, so properly as to allow him to be seen. He entered with a slow step to convey notions of a solemn dignity, and a pretty strong calf was by no means a bad interpreter. After mounting the glasses on the higher regions of the head, he rubbed his eyes as hard as if they were flint, and as if he wished them to strike light, in order to enable him to see. His face was good-humoured, and had no more expression than a well-stuffed pudding. He then looked gravely upon Sir William, when the knight addressed him, “Why am I brought here? I had no desire to be regaled with a breeze of thy far sounding nose,” (the mayor, be it observed, was snoring even then) “nor to behold thee in undress.” The Mayor started at the sounds of the knight’s voice; “Sir William Bradshaigh thou art. It was no ghost. I know thee well; and no wonder that thou pursued the Welsh knight. Where is he?” Sir William slowly unsheathed his sword, all bloody.