ILF.  Ay, me, and the devil too,[386] and he fall into your clutches. 
Let go your tugging; as I am a gentleman, I’ll be your true prisoner.

WEN.  How now:  what’s the matter, Frank?

ILF.  I am fallen into the hands of Serjeants:  I am arrested.

BAR.  How, arrested? a gentleman in our company?

ILF.  Put up, put up; for sin’s sake put up; let’s not all sup in the
Counter to night; let me speak with Master Gripe the creditor.

GRIPE.  Well, what say you to me, sir?

ILF.  You have arrested me here, Master Gripe.

GRIPE.  Not I, sir; the serjeants have.

ILF.  But at your suit, Master Gripe:  yet hear me, as I am a gentleman.

GRIPE.  I rather you could say as you were an honest man, and then I might believe you.

ILF.  Yet hear me.

GRIPE.  Hear me no hearing; I lent you my money for goodwill.

ILF.  And I spent it for mere necessity.  I confess I owe you five hundred pound, and I confess I owe not a penny to any man, but he would be glad to ha’t [on my word]:  my bond you have already, Master Gripe; if you will, now take my word.

GRIPE.  Word me no words! officers, look to your prisoner.  If you cannot either make me present payment, or put me in security—­such as I shall like, too—­

ILF.  Such as you shall like, too:  what say you to this young gentleman? he is the widgeon that we must feed upon. [Aside.]

GRIPE.  Who, young Master Scarborow? he’s an honest gentleman for aught I know; I ne’er lost a penny by him.

ILF.  I would be ashamed any man should say so by me, that I have had dealings withal [Aside]:  but, my enforced friends, will’t please you but to retire into some small distance, whilst I descend with a few words to these gentlemen, and I’ll commit myself into your merciless hands immediately.

SER.  Well, sir, we’ll wait upon you. [They retire.

ILF.  Gentlemen, I am to prefer some conference and especially to you, Master Scarborow:  our meeting here for your mirth hath proved to me thus adverse, that in your companies I am arrested.  How ill it will stand with the flourish of your reputations, when men of rank and note communicate that I, Frank Ilford, gentleman, whose fortunes may transcend to make ample gratuities future, and heap satisfaction for any present extension of his friends’ kindness, was enforced from the Mitre in Bread Street to the Counter in the Poultry.  For mine own part, if you shall think it meet, and that it shall accord with the state of gentry to submit myself from the feather-bed in the master’s side[387] or the flock-bed in the knight’s ward, to the straw-bed in the hole, I shall buckle to my heels, instead of gilt spurs, the armour of patience, and do’t.

WEN.  Come, come, what a pox need all this! this is mellis flora, the sweetest of the honey:  he that was not made to fat cattle, but to feed gentlemen.