WAG. I should ne'er have known you by that, for you wear it on your head, and other folks in their pockets.
L. NIN. Which is my lord, I pray?
SIR J. WOR. The second man: Young Nevill leads.
SIR INN. And where's Sir Abraham?
SIR J. WOR. He with the terrible visage.
L. NIN. Now, out upon him to disfigure himself so: And 'twere not for my bottle, I should swoon.
[_Music, and they dance the second strain, in which_ SCUDMORE _goes away with_ BELLAFRONT.
OMNES SPECTATORES. Good, very good!
[_The other four dance another strain, honour and end._
C. FRED. But where's the bride and Nevill?
OMNES. Ha!
ABRA. 'Ware tricks!
SIR J. WOR. O, there they come: it was their parts to do so.
_Enter_ SCUDMORE _unvizarded_, BELLAFRONT, _with pistols and the right Parson_.
C. FRED. This Nevill? This is Scudmore.
OMNES. How?
C. FRED. But here's my lady.
SCUD. No, my gentlewoman.
ABRA. 'Zoons! treason! I smell powder.
BEL. In short, know, That I am married to this gentleman, To whom I was contracted long ago.
This priest the inviolable knot hath tied.
What ease I find being unladified! [_Aside._]
C. FRED. What riddle's this?
SIR INN. 'Ware the last statute of two husbands.
SCUD. and BEL. Pish!
C. FRED. This is the very priest that married me: Is it not, sister?
_Enter_ NEVILL, _like the Parson too_.
NEV. No.
ABRA. Lord bless us! here is conjuring!
Lend me your aqua-vitae bottle, good mother.
SIR J. WOR. Heyday!
The world's turn'd upside down. I have heard and seen Two or three benefices to one priest, or more, But two priests to one benefice ne'er before.
PEN. Married not you the earl?
PAR. _Bona fide_, no.
SIR J. WOR. You did, then?
NEV. Yes.
C. FRED. I have the privilege, then?
SIR J. WOR. Right, you were married first.
SCUD. Sir John, you doat, This is a devil in a parson's coat.
[NEVILL _puts off the Priest's weeds, and has a devil's robe under_.
OMNES. A pretty emblem!
NEV. Who married her, or would have caus'd her marry, To any man but this, no better was; Let circumstances be examined.
Yet here's one more: and now I hope you all Perceive my marrying not canonical. [_Slips off his devil's weeds._
OMNES. Nevill, whoop!
C. FRED. Heart! what a deal of knavery a priest's cloak can hide. If it be not one of the honestest, friendliest cozenages that 'ere I saw, I am no lord.
KATH. Life! I am not married, then, in earnest.
NEV. So, Mistress Kate, I kept you for myself.
SIR J. WOR. It boots not to be angry.
SIR INN. _and_ LADY. No, faith, Sir John.
_Enter_ STRANGE, _with_ POUTS _on his back_.
2D. SER. Whither will you go with your calf on your back, sir?
SIR J. WOR. Now, more knavery yet?
STRANGE. Prythee, forbear, or I shall do thee mischief.
By your leave, here is some sad to your merriment.
Know you this captain?