[They write.
Enter TROUBLEALL.
Tro. Have you any warrant for this, gentlemen?
Quar. Winw. Ha!
Tro. There must be a warrant had, believe it.
Winw. For what?
Tro. For whatsoever it is, any thing indeed, no matter what.
Quar. ’Slight, here’s a fine ragged prophet dropt down i’ the nick!
Tro. Heaven quit you, gentlemen!
Quar. Nay, stay a little: good lady, put him to the question.