| |
F ACE. 1 [ Re-enter] S UBTLE and D OL
SUB. Has he bit? has he bit? | |
| FACE. And swallowed, too, my Subtle. | |
| I have given him line, and now he plays, i’ faith. | |
| SUB. And shall we twitch him? | 4 |
| FACE. Thorough both the gills. | |
| A wench is a rare bait, with which a man | |
| No sooner’s taken, but he straight firks mad. 2 | |
| SUB. Dol, my Lord What’ts’hum’s sister, you must now | 8 |
| Bear yourself statelich. | |
| DOL. O, let me alone. | |
| I’ll not forget my race, I warrant you. | |
| I’ll keep my distance, laugh and talk aloud; | 12 |
| Have all the tricks of a proud scurvy lady, | |
| And be as rude’s her woman. | |
| FACE. Well said, sanguine! 3 | |
| SUB. But will he send his andirons? | 16 |
| FACE. His jack too, | |
| And ’s iron shoeing-horn; I have spoke to him. Well, | |
| I must not lose my wary gamester yonder. | |
| SUB. O, Monsieur Caution, that will not be gull’d? | 20 |
| FACE. Ay, | |
| If I can strike a fine hook into him, now!— | |
| The Temple-church, there I have cast mine angle. | |
| Well, pray for me. I’ll about it. Knocking without. | 24 |
| SUB. What, more gudgeons! 4 | |
| Dol, scout, scout! [DOL goes to the window.] Stay, Face, you must go to the door, | |
| ’Pray God it be my anabaptist—Who is’t, Dol? | |
| DOL. I know him not: he looks like a gold-end-man. 5 | 28 |
| SUB. ’Ods so! ’tis he, he said he would send—what call you him? | |
| The sanctified elder, that should deal | |
| For Mammon’s jack and andirons. Let him in. | |
| Stay, help me off, first, with my gown. [Exit FACE with the gown.] Away, | 32 |
| Madam, to your withdrawing chamber. [Exit. DOL.] Now, | |
| In a new tune, new gesture, but old language.— | |
| This fellow is sent from one negotiates with me | |
| About the stone too, for the holy brethren | 36 |
| Of Amsterdam, the exil’d saints, that hope | |
| To raise their discipline 6 by it. I must use him | |
| In some strange fashion now, to make him admire me. | |
