3 Citi. We will get in, we'l venture broken pates else.
[Ex. Citiz. and Women.
Tony. 'Tis impossible,
You are too securely arm'd; how they flock hither,
And with what joy the women run by heaps
To see this Marriage! they tickle to think of it,
They hope for every month a husband too;
Still how they run, and how the wittals follow 'em,
The weak things that are worn between the leggs,
That brushing, dressing, nor new naps can mend,
How they post to see their own confusion!
This is a merry world.
Enter Frederick.
Fred. Look to the door Sirrah,
Thou art a fool, and may'st do mischief lawfully.
Tony. Give me your hand, you are my Brother fool,
You may both make the Law, and marr it presently.
Do you love a wench?
Fred. Who does not, fool?
Tony. Not I, unless you will give me a longer lease to marry her.
Fred. What are all these that come, what business have they?