Bar. My wife with him?
Why this is a dismal day.
Pen. They are hard by too, Sir.
Bar. I must not, dare not see her.
Isab. Nor my Husband,
For twenty thousand pound.
Bar. That I were a Cat now,
Or any thing could run into a Bench-hole,
Saint Anthonies Fire upon the rogue has brought her;
Where shall I be? just i'th' nick o'th' matter!
When I had her at my mercy! think for heaven sake,
My wife, all the wild furies hell has.
Pen. Up the Chimney.
Bar. They'll smoke me out there presently.
Isab. There, there, it must be there,
We are all undone else: it must be up the Chimney.
Bar. Give me a Ladder.
Isab. You must use your Art, Sir,
Alas, we have no Ladders.