Throat. Sir, she is rich,
And a great heir.
2d Gent. 'Tis the more dangerous.
Throat. Dangerous? Lord! where be those gallant spirits?
The time has been, when scarce an honest woman,
Much less a wench, could pass an inn-of-court,
But some of the fry would have been doing
With her. I knew the day, when Shreds, a tailor,
Coming once late by an inn-of-chancery,
Was laid along, and muffled in his cloak,
His wife took in, stitch'd-up, turn'd out again,
And he persuaded all was but in jest.
Tut, those brave boys are gone; these which are left
Are wary lads, live poring on their books,
And give their linen to their laundresses;
By tail they now can save their purses:[379]
I knew, when every gallant had his man,
But now a twelvepenny weekly laundress
Will serve the turn to half a dozen of them.
Enter Dash.
Here comes my man; what news?
Dash. As you would wish;
The Lady Sommerfield is come to town.
Her horses yet are walking, and her men say
Her only daughter is conveyed away—
No man knows how. Now to it, master!
You and your servant Dash are made for ever,
If you but stick to it now.
Throat. Gentlemen,
Now show yourselves at full, and not a man
But shares a fortune with me, if I speed.
Enter William Small-Shanks, Boutcher, Thomas Small-Shanks, Frances, and Beard with a torch.
1st Gent. Tut, fear not us; be sure you run away,
And we'll perform the quarrel.
Throat. Stand close: they come.