ispence:
away then! wherefore lagge yee?

_A tumult within and sudden noyse. Enter at one doore
Godfrey with country fellowes for there reskewe, at the
other Mildewe, Sarlaboys, Palestra, Scribonia_.

_Palest_. Where, in what place shall wee bestowe our selfes
From this injust man's fury?

_Scrib_. If compeld
And dragg'd from sanctuary by prophane hands,
Where shall we flye to safety?

_Ashb_. Wheither, if
Not unto us? wee often see the gods
Give and bequeathe there justyce unto men,
Which wee as fythefully [_sic_] will see performed.

_All_. Downe with these saucy companyons!

_Godf_. Downe with these sacraligious silsepaereales [?], these
unsanctified _Sarlaboyses_ that woold make a very seralia of the
sanctuary, and are meare renegadoes to all religion!

_Mild_. Stay, hold, are you bandetty? rovers, theives,
And wayte you heare to robb and pilladge us
The sea so late hathe ryfled? these are myne,
My chattells and my goodes, nor can you cease them
As wrecks; I appeale unto the admirall.

_Ash_. His power I in his absens will supply,
And cease yee all as forfett; these as goodds
You as superfluous ladinge, till that coort
Shall compremise betwixt us.

_Mild_. I'the meanetyme
Lett mee possesse myne owne; these are my slaves
My utensills, my mooveables, and bought
With myne owne private coyne.

_Sarl_. To which I am witnes.

_Mild_. And by the heyre I'l dragge them as myne owne,
Wear't from the holly alter.

_Pal_. Succor!

_Scrib_. Helpe!

_Ashb_. Are they not Christians?

_Mild_. Yes.

_Ash_. What nation?

_Mild_. _Englishe_.

_Ashb_. In myne owne country borne and shall not I
Stand as theire champion then? I tell thee, pesant,
_England_'s, no broode for slaves.

_Pal_. Oh Syr to you
Wee fly as to a father.

_Ashb_. And I'l guard you
As weare you myne owne children.

_Mild_. Gainst there lord,
Owner and mayster?

_Ashb_. None is lordd with us
But such as are freeborne; our Christian lawes
Do not allowe such to bee bought or sould
For any Bawde or pander to hyre such
To comon prostitution. Heere they stand:
Tutch but a garment, nay a heyre of theres
With thy least finger, thy bald head I'l sinke
Belowe thy gowtye foote.

_Mild_. I am opprest,
Is theire no lawe in _France_?

_Ashb_. Yes, Syr, to punish
These chastityes seducers.

_Mild_. Give me fyar,
I will not leive of all this monastery
Of you or these, of what's combustible,
Naye of my self, one mo