the "George"
tavern, in Dogwell Court, Bouverie Street, the four scamps raise a shout
of "An arrest! an arrest! A bailiff! a bailiff!" The drawers join in the
tumult; the Friars, in a moment, is in an uproar; and eventually the old
gentleman is chased by all the scum of Alsatia, shouting at the top of
their voices, "Stop! stop! A bailiff! a bailiff!" He has a narrow escape
of being pulled to pieces, and emerges in Fleet Street, hot,
bespattered, and bruised. It was no joke then to threaten the privileges
of Whitefriars.

Presently a horn is blown, there is a cry from Water Lane to
Hanging-sword Alley, from Ashen-tree Court to Temple Gardens, of
"Tipstaff! An arrest! an arrest!" and in a moment they are "up in the
Friars," with a cry of "Fall on." The skulking debtors scuttle into
their burrows, the bullies fling down cup and can, lug out their rusty
blades, and rush into the _melee_. From every den and crib red-faced,
bloated women hurry with fire-forks, spits, cudgels, pokers, and
shovels. They're "up in the Friars," with a vengeance. Pouring into the
Temple before the Templars can gather, they are about to drag old Sir
William under the pump, when the worthy son comes to the rescue, and the
Templars, with drawn swords, drive back the rabble, and make the porters
shut the gates leading into Alsatia. Cheatley, Shamwell, and Hackman,
taken prisoners, are then well drubbed and pumped on by the Templars,
and the gallant captain loses half his whiskers. "The terror of his
face," he moans, "is gone." "Indeed," says Cheatley, "your magnanimous
phiz is somewhat disfigured by it, captain." Cheatley threatened endless
actions. Hackman swears his honour is very tender, and that this one
affront will cost him at least five murders. As for Shamwell, he is
inconsolable. "What reparation are actions?" he moans, as he shakes his
wet hair and rubs his bruised back. "I am a gentleman, and can never
show my face amongst my kindred more." When at last they have got free,
they all console themselves with cherry brandy from Hackman's shop,
after which the "copper captain" observes, somewhat in Falstaff's
manner, "A fish has a cursed life on't. I shall have that aversion to
water after this, that I shall scarce ever be cleanly enough to wash my
face again."

Later in the play there is still another rising in Alsatia, but this
time the musketeers come in force, in spite of all privileges, and the
scuffle is greater than ever. Some debtors