PLUTARCHUS

Oh, but good father you trust too much! I do not wish to be one, truly, Father. In a descent, or two, we come to be Just 'itheir state, fit to be coozend, Like them. And I had rather have tarried i'your trade: For, since the Gentry scorn the City so much, Me thinks we should in time, holding together, And matching in our own tribes, as they say, Have God and Act of Common Council, for it, That we might cozen them out of rerum naturam. And makes a Mongrel breed, Father. And when they have your money, then they laugh at you: Or kick you down the stairs. I cannot abide them. I would feign have them cozened, but not trusted. Oh, is he come! I knew he would not fail me. Welcome, good Guilt-head, I must have you do A noble Gentleman, a courtesy, here: In a mere toy (some pretty Ring, or Jewel) Of fifty, or threescore pound (Make it a hundred, And hedge in the last forty, that I owe you, And your own price for the Ring) He's a good man, S r , And you may hap' see him a great one! He, Is likely to bestow hundreds, and thousands, Wi'you; if you can humour him. A great prince He will be shortly. What do you say? Good Father do not trust them. Plutarchus, Sir. Father, deer Father, trust him if you love me. Yet sweet father, trust him. Yes, Sir. Of gold, and pearl, S r . His hand is to the draught. You do deliver this, Sir, as your deed. To th'vse of M r . Manly ? Pardon me, Father, I said his worship had no foot of Land left: And that I'll justify, for I writ the deed. Do you so too, good Father. Father. Oh Master Sledge, are you here? I have been to seek you. You are the Constable, they say. Here's one That I do charge with Felony, for the suit He wears, Sir. Good Father, do't)