Omnes. What's the matter?
Blood. Where's Moll, Sim? the widow, Sim, the dainty widow?
Sim. There's no Moll; there is no dainty young widow; but a damnable bawd we found abed, with a face like an apple half-roasted.
Omnes. How's this?
Blood. Why, gentlemen!
Anc. Now it works.
Blood. Jarvis, you're a rogue: a cutpurse, Jarvis. Run, Sim, call my son Ear-lack: he shall put her into the spiritual court for this.
Sim. Nay, he has put her in there already, for we found him abed with her.
Omnes. Possible!
Blood. Ha, boys! the informer and the bawd, the bawd and the informer have got a devil betwixt them, gentlemen.