Ser. A gentleman of sort! why, what care I?
A woman of her fashion shall find
More kindness at a lusty serjeant's hand
Than ten of your gentlemen of sort.
Dash. Sir, use her well: she's wife to Master Throat.
Ser. I'll use her, sir, as if she were my wife:
Would you have any more?
Beard. Drink upon that,
Whilst we go fetch her bail. Dash, fellow Dash,
With all the speed thou hast, run for our master;
Make haste, lest he be gone, before thou comest,
To Lady Sommerfield's: I'll fetch another;
She shall have bail.
Dash. And a firking writ
Of false imprisonment; she shall be sure
Of twelvepence damage, and five-and-twenty pound
For suits in law: I'll go fetch my master.
Beard. And I another.
[Exeunt Beard and Dash.
Ser. Drawer, leave the room.
Here, mistress, a health!
Fran. Let it come, sweet rogue.
[The Drawer stands aside.