Rhod. Well, I durst venture twice the price of your gilt coney’s wool, we shall have you change your copy ere a twelvemonth’s day.
Mug. We must have you dubb’d o’ th’ order; there’s no remedy: you that have, unmarried, done such honourable service in the commonwealth, must needs receive the honour due to ‘t in marriage.
Rhod. That he may do, and never marry.
D’Ol. As how, wits? i’ faith as how?
Rhod. For if he can prove his father was free o’ th’ order, and that he was his father’s son, then, by the laudable custom of the city, he may be a cuckold by his father’s copy, and never serve for ‘t.
D’Ol. Ever good i’ faith!
Mug. Nay how can he plead that, when ’tis as well known his father died a bachelor?
D’Ol. Bitter, in verity, bitter! But good still in its kind.
Rhod. Go to, we must have you follow the lantern of your forefathers.
Mug. His forefathers? S’body, had he more fathers than one?