When sergeants wait at feasts, the cheer's but cold.
I'll shift for one. [Exit.
Lamb. Knight, knight! 'Sfoot! if an errand-knight run away, I were an errand ass to tarry, and be catched in the lime-bush: I love the wench well; but if they have no hole to place me in but the hole in the counter, I'll be gone and leave 'em; that's flat. [Exit.
Brew. You have scared the suitors from the mark, sir.
Steph. I am glad on't, sir; they are but such as seek
To build their rotten state on you, and with your wealth
To underprop their weakness:
Believe me, reverend sir, I had much rather
You'd venture that my coz might call you father.
Brew. We'll talk of that anon. See, sir, here comes you wife.
Enter Stephen's Wife.
The theme of all her time, with goodness mix'd,
The happy woman that was never vex'd.
You're welcome, Mistress Foster.
Wife. I thank ye, sir.
Steph. Wife, your two debtors
Were here but now, Speedwell and Lambskin.
A wolf could not have torn poor Lambskin worse
Than the bare name of sergeant: the very thought
Made them both take their heels and run away.
Wife. 'Las! they are poor and lean, and being so,
Kill them not till they are fatter.