Invited do not wrong me, Fall to, good Guests, you have diligent men about ye, Ye shall want nothing that may persecute ye, These will not see ye start; Have I now found ye? Have I requited ye? You fool'd the Lawyer, And thought it meritorious to abuse him, A thick ram-headed knave: you rid, you spur'd him, And glorified your wits, the more ye wronged him; Within this hour ye shall have all your Creditours, A second dish of new debts, come upon ye, And new invitements to the whip, _Don Diego_, And Excommunications for the learned Curate, A Masque of all your furies shall dance to ye. _Ars_. You dare not use us thus? _Bar_. You shall be bob'd, Gentlemen, Stir, and as I have a life, ye goe to prison, To prison, without pitie instantly, Before ye speak another word to prison. I have a better Guard without, that waits; Do you see this man, _Don_ Curate? 'tis a Paratour That comes to tell ye a delightfull story Of an old whore ye have, and then to teach ye What is the penaltie; Laugh at me now Sir, What Legacie would ye bequeath me now, (And pay it on the nail?) to fly my fury? _Lop_. O gentle Sir. _Bar_. Do'st thou hope I will be gentle, Thou foolish unconsiderate Curate? _Lop_. Let me goe Sir. _Bar_. I'le see thee hang first. _Lop_. And as I am a true Vicar, Hark in your ear, hark softly-- _Bar_. No, no bribery. I'le have my swindge upon thee; Sirra? Rascal? You Lenten Chaps, you that lay sick, and mockt me, Mockt me abominably, abused me lewdly, I'le make thee sick at heart, before I leave thee, And groan, and dye indeed, and be worth nothing, Not worth a blessing, nor a Bell to knell for thee, A sheet to cover thee, but that thou Stealest, Stealest from the Merchant, and the Ring he was buried with Stealest from his Grave, do you smell me now? _Die_. Have mercy on me! _Bar_. No Psalm of mercy shall hold me from hanging thee. How do ye like your Breakfast? 'tis but short, Gentlemen, But sweet and healthfull; Your punishment, and yours, Sir, For some near reasons that concern my Credit, I will take to my self. _Am_. Doe Sir, and spare not: I have been too good a wife, and too obedient, But since ye dare provoke me to be foolish-- _Lea_. She has, yes, and too worthie of your usage, Before the world I justifie her goodness, And turn that man, that dares but taint her vertues, To my Swords point; that lying man, that base man, Turn him, but face to face, that I may know him. _Bar_. What have I here? _Lea_.