W. Small. She's mad.
Throat. My wife, sir, my wife!
W. Small. They're mad, stark mad:
I am sorry, sir, you have lost those happy wits,
By which you liv'd so well. The air grows cold:
Therefore I'll take my leave.
Lady Som. So, stay him, officers.
Sir, 'tis not your tricks of wit can carry it.
Officers, attach him and this gentleman
For stealing away my heir.
W. Small. You do me wrong;
Heart! I never saw your heir.
Throat. That's a lie:
You stole her, and by chance I married her.
W. Small. God give you joy, sir.
Throat. Ask the butler else.
Therefore, widow, release me; for by no law,
Statute, or book-case of Vicesimo
Edwardi secundi, nor by the statute
Of Tricesimo Henrici sexti,
Nor by any book-case of decimo
Of the late queen, am I accessory,
Part, or party-confederate, abettor,
Helper, seconder, persuader, forwarder,
Principal, or maintainer of this late theft,
But by law. I forward, and she willing,
Clapp'd up the match, and by a good statute
Of Decimo tertio Richardi quarti,
She is my leeful, lawful, and my true
Married wife, teste Lieutenant Beard.
W. Small. Who lives would think that you could prate so fast,
Your hands being bound behind you? foot, he talks
With as much ease, as if he were in's shirt.
Oliver. I am witness thou hadst the heir.