Staines. For a fatherly blessing too, sir.
Sir Lionel. Heyday! 'tis palpable, I am gull'd, and my sons Scattergood and Bubble fooled. You are married.
Spend. Yes, sir, we are married.
Sir Lionel. More villany! everything goes the wrong way.
Spend. We shall go the right way anon, I hope.
Sir Lionel. Yes, marry shall you; you shall e'en to the
Compter again, and that's the right way for you.
Wid. O, you are wrong;
The prison that shall hold him are these arms.
Sir Lionel. I do fear that I shall turn stinkard,
I do smell such a matter. You are married then?
Enter Scattergood and Bubble.
Spend. Ecce signum! here's the wedding-ring t' affirm it.