Lamb. If you dare cross my purse with your sword, sir, I'll lay an action of suspicion of felony to you; that's flat, sir.
Jane. Nay, pray you, gentlemen, do not quarrel till you know for what.
Brew. O, no quarrelling, I beseech you, gentlemen! the reputation of my house is soiled if any uncivil noise arise in't.
Lamb. Let him but shake his blade at me, and I'll throw down my purse and cry a rape; I scorn to kill him, but I'll hang his knighthood, I warrant him, if he offer assault and battery on my purse.
Brew. Nay, good sir, put up your sword.
Speed. You have confined him prisoner for ever: I hope your experience sees he's a harmless thing.
Enter George.
George. Sir, here's young Master Foster requests to speak with you.
Brew. Does he? Prythee, request him [in]. Gentlemen, please you taste the sweetness of my garden awhile, and let my daughter bear you company.
Speed. Where she is leader, there will be followers.