Beard. Shall maids be here deflowered?
Ser. Now kiss again.
Drawer. Now, now.
Enter Captain, and seeing the hurly-burly, runs away.
Beard. Deflower virgins! rogue I avaunt, ye slave,
Are maids fit subjects for a serjeant's mace?
So now are we once more free: there's for the wine.
[Exit Serjeant.
Now to our rendezvous: three pounds in gold
These slops[413] contain; we'll quaff in Venice glasses[414],
And swear some lawyers are but silly asses.
[Exeunt Beard and Frances.
Enter Captain Face.
Capt. Face. Is the coast clear? Are these combustions ceas'd?
And may we drink canary sack in peace?
Shall we have no attendance here, you rogues?
Where be these rascals that skip up and down
Faster than virginal jacks?[415] Drawers!