L. Mayor. Huswife, get you in. [Exit Sybil.
Firk. Pitchers have ears, and maids have wide mouths; but for Hans Prauns, upon my word, to-morrow morning he and young Mistress Rose go to this gear, they shall be married together, by this rush, or else turn Firk to a firkin of butter, to tan leather withal.
L. Mayor. But art thou sure of this?
Firk. Am I sure that Paul’s steeple is a handful higher than London Stone,[94] or that the Pissing-Conduit[95] leaks nothing but pure Mother Bunch? Am I sure I am lusty Firk? God’s nails, do you think I am so base to gull you?
Lincoln. Where are they married? Dost thou know the church.
Firk. I never go to church, but I know the name of it; it is a swearing church—stay a while, ’tis—ay, by the mass, no, no,—’tis—ay, by my troth, no, nor that; ’tis—ay, by my faith, that, that, ’tis, ay, by my Faith’s Church under Paul’s Cross. There they shall be knit like a pair of stockings in matrimony; there they’ll be inconie.[96]
Lincoln. Upon my life, my nephew Lacy walks
In the disguise of this Dutch shoemaker.
Firk. Yes, forsooth.
Lincoln. Doth he not, honest fellow?
Firk. No, forsooth; I think Hans is nobody but
Hans, no spirit.