Fail.  And I vow to gad, my lord, I know as little how I came hither as any man.

Burr.  Nor I.

Trice.  Nor I.

Lot.  No, I dare swear do’st thou not, Mr Justice.

Trice.  But I wonder how the devil durst come into our ward, when he knows I have been at the duties of—­my family—­this evening.

Enter one of the Watch, with TIMOROUS and ISABELLA.

Watch.  An please your worship, I met this couple in the street late, and so, seeing them to be a man and woman, I brought them along with me, upon suspicion of felony together.

Fran.  This is the proud minx, that sought shelter in my house this afternoon, Mr Justice.

Fail.  Sir Timorous and Madam Isabella!  I vow to gad, we are undone, Burr.—­

Isa.  Do not you know me, Mr Justice?

Lov.  Justice is blind, he knows nobody.

Isa.  My name is Isabella.

Fran.  No, thy name is Jezebella; I warrant you, there’s none but rogues and papists would be abroad at this time of night.

Bib.  Hold, Frances.—­

Trice.  She’s drunk, I warrant her, as any beast.  I wonder, woman, you do not consider what a crying sin drunkenness is:  Whom do you learn it from in our parish?  I am sure you never see me worse.

Isa.  Burr and Failer, acknowledge yourselves a couple of recreant knights:  Sir Timorous is mine:  I have won him in fair field from you.

Const.  Give you joy, cousin, give you joy!

Lov.  Married!

Isa.  And in Diana’s grove, boy.

Lov.  Why, ’tis fine, by Heaven; ’tis wondrous fine; as the poet goes on sweetly.

Tim.  I am sure they had gagged me, and bound me, and stripped me almost stark naked, and locked me up as fast as a butterfly, ’till she came and made me a man again; and therefore I have reason to love her the longest day I have to live.

Isa.  Ay, and the longest night too, or you are to blame.  And you have one argument I love you, if the proverb be true, for I took you almost in your bare shirt.

Burr.  So much for us, Failer!

Const.  Well, my lord, it had as good out at first as at last:  I must beg your lordship’s blessing for this gentleman and myself. [Both kneel.

Non.  Why, you are not married to him, I hope! he’s married to the devil.

Lov.  ’Twas a white devil of your lordship’s getting, then; Mr Setstone and the reverend here can witness it.

Set.  Par.  We must speak truth, my lord.

Non.  Would I had another child for your sake! you should ne’er see a penny of my money.

Lov.  Thank you, my lord; but methinks ’tis much better as it is.

Isa.  Come, nuncle, ’tis in vain to hold out, now ’tis past remedy:  ’Tis like the last act of a play, when people must marry; and if fathers will not consent then, they should throw oranges at them from the galleries.  Why should you stand off, to keep us from a dance?