Bawd. Lord, dear, what shall we do?
Par. Why, sweet, I'll warrant you. Art thou not my wife, my rib, bone of my bone? I'll suffer anything ere one hair of thee shall be touched.
Bawd. Hark! they break open the door!
Par. They dare not! Why dost thou tremble so? Alas, sweet innocence, how it shakes!
Capt. Break open the door.
Par. I'll complain to the bishop of this insolence.
Bawd. They come, they come, lamb!
Par. No matter, sweet, they dare not touch thee. What would you have, master constable? You are very rude.
[He delivers the warrant.
Capt. Read our warrant, and our business will excuse us. Do you know any such person as you find there?