GEOFFREY

What Roger, all amort, me thinks th'art off o'th'hookes? Faith I was never on a merrier pinn, Nor my breast lighter hearted. Would? Thou wilt not swagger, Hodge? Are we not of one House? Pander? I could answer thee, but that I spy two Gentlemen, With whom I have business of my Master's. All's plotted, we want money, fell we must, The rate we live at must have fresh supply; I'll give you the whole project. I have gone through sir. A Thousand pounds brought in to night. Trifles sir, acknowledging a Statute, nothing else; It's finished in a moment. Three sir. It shall be done, I'll be your Mercury. If any thing to whet dull appetite, To heighten pleasure, and inflame delight Be this night wanting, ere Sun rise to morrow Cashier me from your service. Good Wine, good Victuals, Liveries; And the countenance of a good Master. That's as your worship shall be pleased to call it. All this sir? And how for mine? If this he all, as where no more is left What more can be expected? this's my portion, I'll husband't for my self; he that gets this, Or partly of this, must have more share in me Than either man or Master. And my neglect; so I be stored my self, Which hand with him goes forward. It's most true, you never saw a man so strange debauched; He hath not only run out all his fortune, But even his senses; I had once my Lord, Some small dependence on him, but his riot Hath almost ruined me. Your Lordship's Cloth and countenance. One of my fellows once. Brave my Lord? And nothing more than truth. Speak it not, I'll not believe it Mistress. But all this Mistress, makes not me a Pander. Where I'll try how near of Kin I am to this Gentleman, and show my self and Eate-well. Exeunt. Him I saw but now cross by the door. Sir I shall doe't. Remember Islington, my Host, my Hostess, and the Constable, Should we be silent, every Oysterwife, Fishwife, and those cry Milk and Oranges Can speak of your rare supper; fie, Friar John, And so dainty to your friends? A man of Art, no more; so much we know you are. Offer my self to the Devil before my time? You might accuse my folly. What, grown so brave? he hath sure lighted on some cheat? A Bankrupt idle fellow brave your Lordship? Beat him to's wits, or let me kick him for you. Endure this? Dash out's brains. I think we made him fly, for I am sure some there Gave shameful ground. Here comes your husband, he hath perhaps some news He says true sir, Let all your anger then conclude in this, And bid the Devil take him. Faith And I. Would I were hence. My lord these Friars I know. My Lord see, my Fellow Roger's damned, for he's God in Among the Fiends and Furies. Is she not dead to night, and Now her Ghost there walks? Now I have't; Upon my life the Devil can be no better; she the illusive Spirit by whom this room was haunted, contracted Now unto yond desperate Ruffian.