_Hem._ That he owes me money, And here in town there is no stirring of him.

_Ger._ Say ye so?

_Hem._ This day, upon a sure appointment, He meets me a mile hence, by the Chase side, Under the row of Oaks; do you know it?

_All B._ Yes Sir.

_Hem._ Give 'em more drink: there if you dare but venture When I shall give the word to seize upon him Here's twenty pound.

_3 B._ Beware the Jugler.

_Hem._ If he resist, down with him, have no mercy.

_1 B._ I warrant you, we'll hamper him.

_Hem._ To discharge you, I have a Warrant here about me.

_3 B._ Here's our Warrant, This carries fire i'th' Tail.

_Hem._ Away with me then, The time draws on, I must remove so insolent a Suitor, And if he be so rich, make him pay ransome Ere he see _Bruges_ Towers again. Thus wise men Repair the hurts they take by a disgrace, And piece the Lions skin with the Foxes case.

_Ger._ I am glad I have heard this sport yet.

_Hem._ There's for thy drink, come pay the house within Boys, And lose no time.

_Ger._ Away with all our haste too. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ Goswin.

_Gos._ No wind blow fair yet? no return of moneys?

Letters? nor any thing to hold my hopes up?

Why then 'tis destin'd, that I fall, fall miserably!

My credit I was built on, sinking with me.

Thou boystrous North-wind, blowing my misfortunes, And frosting all my hopes to cakes of coldness; Yet stay thy fury; give the gentle South Yet leave to court those sails that bring me safety, And you auspicious fires, bright twins in heaven Daunce on the shrowds; he blows still stubbornly, And on his boystrous Rack rides my sad ruin; There is no help, there can be now no comfort, To morrow with the Sun-set, sets my credit.

Oh misery! thou curse of man, thou plague, In the midst of all our strength thou strik'st us; My vertuous Love is lost too: all, what I have been, No more hereafter to be seen than shadow; To prison now? well, yet there's this hope left me; I may sink fairly under this days venture, And so to morrow's cross'd, and all those curses: Yet manly I'll invite my Fate, base fortune Shall never say, she has cut my throat in fear.

This is the place his challenge call'd me to, And was a happy one at this time for me, For let me fall before my Foe i'th' field, And not at Bar, before my Creditors; H'as kept his word: now Sir, your swords tongue only Loud as you dare, all other language--

_Enter_ Hemskirke.

_Hem._ Well Sir, You shall not be long troubled: draw.

_Gos._ 'Tis done Sir, And now have at ye.

_Hem._ Now.

_Enter_ Boors.

_Gos._ Betray'd to Villains!

Slaves ye shall buy me bravely, And thou base coward.

_Enter_ Gerrard _and_ Beggars.

_Ger._ Now upon 'em bravely, Conjure 'em soundly Boys.

_Boors._ Hold, hold.

_Ger._ Lay on still, Down with that Gentleman rogue, swinge him to sirrup.

Retire Sir, and take Breath: follow, and take him, Take all, 'tis lawful prize.

_Boors._ We yield.

_Ger._ Down with 'em Into the Wood, and rifle 'em, tew 'em, swinge 'em, Knock me their brains into their Breeches. [_Exeunt._

_Boors._ Hold, hold.

_Gos._ What these men are I know not, nor for what cause They shou'd thus thrust themselves into my danger, Can I imagine. But sure Heavens hand was in't!

Nor why this coward Knave should deal so basely To eat me up with Slaves: but Heaven I thank thee, I hope thou hast reserv'd me to an end Fit for thy creature, and worthy of thine honour: Would all my other dangers here had suffered, With what a joyful heart should I go home then?

Where now, Heaven knows, like him that waits his sentence, Or hears his pa.s.sing Bell; but there's my hope still.

_Enter_ Gerrard.

_Ger._ Blessing upon you Master.

_Gos._ Thank ye; leave me, For by my troth I have nothing now to give thee.

_Ger._ Indeed I do not ask Sir, only it grieves me To see ye look so sad; now goodness keep ye From troubles in your mind.

_Gos._ If I were troubled, What could thy comfort do? prithee _Clause_, leave me.

_Ger._ Good Master be not angry; for what I say Is out of true love to ye.

_Gos._ I know thou lov'st me.

_Ger._ Good Mr. blame that love then, if I prove so sawcy To ask ye why ye are sad.

_Gos._ Most true, I am so, And such a sadness I have got will sink me.

_Ger._ Heaven shield it, Sir.

_Gos._ Faith, thou must lose thy Master.

_Ger._ I had rather lose my neck, Sir: would I knew--