Bub. How! married? I would see that man durst marry her.
Gera. Why, sir, what would you do?
Bub. Why, sir, I would forbid the banns.
Scat. And so would I.
Sir Lionel. Do you know that youth in satin? he's the pen that belongs to that inkhorn.
Bub. How! let me see; are not you my man Gervase?
Staines. Yes, sir.
Enter a Serjeant.
Bub. And have you married her?
Staines. Yes, sir.