CASH

Within, sir, in the warehouse. Good, sir. He will expect you, sir, within this half hour. Yes, sir, the money was brought in, last night. Sir, if a servants Duty, with faith, may be called love, you are More then in hope, you are possessed of it. Sir, for that— How? I reveal it? A great treachery. Give it no other name. Sir, if I do, mankind disclaim me, ever. Not yet, sir, but I will, Please you— By my souls safety then, sir, I protest. My tongue shall never take knowledge of a word, Delivered me in nature of your trust. Sir, at your pleasure? I will, sir. Very well, sir. I will not, sir. I shall not, sir. Sir. I warrant you. No, sir. I do suppose it. Sir. I do believe you. Locked up in silence, midnight, buried here. Whence should this flood of passion (trow) take head? would? Best, dream no longer of this running humour, For fear I sink! the violence of the stream Already hath transported me so far, That I can feel no ground at all! but soft, O, it's our water-bearer: somewhat ha crossed him, now. FAsting days? what tell you me of fasting days? 'Slid, would they were all on a light fire for me: They say, the whole world shall be consumed with fire one day, but would I had these ember-weeks, and villainous Fridays burned, in the mean time, and then— Why, how now COB, what moves thee to this choler? would? Oh, you'll slip your head out of the collar? why, goodman COB, you mistake me. Thy rheum, COB? thy humour, thy humour? thou mistakest. Marry, I'll tell thee, COB: It is a gentlemanlike monster, bred, in the special gallantry of our time, by affectation; and fed by folly. O I, humour is nothing, if it be not fed. Didst thou never hear that? it's a common phrase, Feed my humour. I pray thee, good COB, what makes thee so out of love with fa sting-dayes? Indeed, these are faults, COB. 'Slight, peace, thou'lt be beaten Like a stockfish, else: here is M r . MATTHEW. Now must I look out for a messenger to my master. BEshrew me, but it was and absolute good jest, and exceedingly well carried! GASPER, MARTIN, COB: Heart, where should they be, trow? Fire on your match, no time but now to vouchsafe? FRAN CIS. COB. At Justice CLEMENTS, he is: in the middle of Colman -street. Would his match, and he, and pipe, and all were at SANCTO DOMINGO! I had forgotten it. Sir, here's your match: come, thou must needs be talking, too, tho'art well enough served. As truth's self, sir. Ho, who keeps house, here? Ho, good wife? Sir. SNARE, your scrivener, will be there with bonds. Exchange time, sir. Sir. I think he be, sir. Hold, hold, good gentlemen. Here, sir. I, sir, they went in. My mistress, and your sister— No, sir, they are all gone. I can assure you, sir. One, they call him master KNO'WELL, a handsome young gentleman, sir. FRANCIS, MARTIN, never a one to be found, now? what a spite's this? No sir, my master went forth eene now: but master DOWN RIGHT is within. COB, what COB? is he gone too? I know not, to Justice CLEMENTS, I think, sir. COB.