Throat. What's the matter?
W. Small. Here are two retainers, hangers-on, sir,
Which will consume more than ten liveries;
If by your means they be not straight shook off—
I am arrested.
Throat. Arrested! what's the sum?
W. Small. But thirteen pounds, due to Beard the butler:
Do but bail me, and I will save you harmless.
Throat. Why, here's the end of it[394]: I know the law;
If you be bail'd by me, the debt is mine,
Which I will undertake—
W. Small. La[395] there, rogues:
Foot! I knew he would not let me want
For thirteen pounds.
Throat. Provided you seal a release
Of all your claim to Mistress Sommerfield.
W. Small. Serjeants, do your kind: hale me to the hole.
Seal a release? Serjeants, come: to prison!
Seal a release for Mistress Sommerfield?
First I will stink in jail, be eat with lice,
Endure an object worse than the devil himself,
And that's ten Serjeants peeping through the grates
Upon my lousy linen. Come to jail:
Foot, a release!
T. Small. There's no conscience in it.
Bout. 'Tis a demand uncharitable.