SUMNER. I have the law to warrant what I do; and though the Lord Cobham be a noble man, that dispenses not with law: I dare serve process were a five noble men. Though we Sumners make sometimes a mad slip in a corner with a pretty wench, a Sumner must not go always by seeing: a man may be content to hide his eyes, where he may feel his profit. Well, this is my Lord Cobham’s house if I can devise to speak with him; if not, I’ll clap my citation upon’s door: so my lord of Rochester bid me. But me thinks here comes one of his men. [Enter Harpoole.] HARPOOLE. Welcome, good fellow, welcome; who wouldst thou speak with? SUMNER. With my lord Cobham I would speak, if thou be one of his men. HARPOOLE. Yes, I am one of his men, but thou canst not speak with my lord. SUMNER. May I send to him then? HARPOOLE. I’ll tell thee that, when I know thy errand. SUMNER. I will not tell my errand to thee. HARPOOLE. Then keep it to thy self, and walk like a knave as thou camest. SUMNER. I tell thee, my lord keeps no knaves, sirra. HARPOOLE. Then thou servest him not, I believe: what lord is thy master? SUMNER My lord of Rochester. HARPOOLE. In good time! And what wouldst thou have with my lord Cobham? SUMNER. I come, by virtue of a process, to ascite him to appear before my lord in the court at Rochester. HARPOOLE. [Aside.] Well, God grant me patience! I could eat this conger. My lord is not at home; therefore it were good, Sumner, you carried your process back. SUMNER. Why, if he will not be spoken withal, then will I leave it here; and see you that he take knowledge of it. HARPOOLE. Swounds, you slave, do you set up your bills here! go to; take it down again. Doest thou know what thou dost? Dost thou know on whom thou servest process? SUMNER. Yes, marry, do I; Sir John Old-castle, Lord Cobham. HARPOOLE. I am glad thou knowest him yet: and, sirra, dost not thou know, that the lord Cobham is a brave lord, that keeps good beef and beer in his house, and every day feeds a hundred poor people at’s gate, and keeps a hundred tall fellows? SUMNER. What’s that to my process? HARPOOLE. Marry, this, sir! is this process parchment? SUMNER. Yes, marry. HARPOOLE. And this seal wax? SUMNER. It is so. HARPOOLE. If this be parchment, & this wax, eat you this parchment and this wax, or I will make parchment of your skin, and beat your brains into wax: Sirra Sumner, dispatch; devour, sirra, devour. SUMNER. I am my lord of Rochester’s Sumner; I came to do my office, and thou shalt answer it. HARPOOLE. Sirra, no railing, but betake you to your teeth. Thou shalt eat no worse than thou bringst with thee: thou bringst it for my lord, and wilt thou bring my lord worse than thou wilt eat thy self? SUMNER. Sirra, I brought it not my lord to eat. HARPOOLE. O, do you sir me now? all’s one for that: but I’ll make you eat it, for bringing it. SUMNER. I cannot eat it. HARPOOLE. Can you not? sblood I’ll beat you until you have a stomach. [He beats him.]