SIR ARTHUR.
A marriage, mine host?
HOST. A conjunction copulative; a gallant match between your daughter and M. Raymond Mountchensey, young Juventus.
SIR ARTHUR.
How?
HOST. Tis firm, tis done. We'll shew you a president i'th civil law fort.
SIR RAPH.
How? married?
HOST.
Leave tricks and admiration. There's a cleanly pair of sheets
in the bed in Orchard chamber, and they shall lie there. What?
I'll do it; I'll serve the good Duke of Norfolk.
SIR ARTHUR.
Thou shalt repent this, Blague.
SIR RAPH. If any law in England will make thee smart for this, expect it with all severity.
HOST. I renounce your defiance; if you parle so roughly, I'll barracado my gates against you. stand fair, bully; Priest, come off from the rereward! What can you say now? Twas done in my house; I have shelter i'th Court for't. D'yee see yon bay window? I serve the good duke of Norfolk, and tis his lodging. Storm, I care not, serving the good Duke of Norfolk: thou art an actor in this, and thou shalt carry fire in thy face eternally.
[Enter Smug, Mountchensey, Harry Clare, and Milliscent.]