Your Master is a Traitor, for all this, Under the Rose: Here's to you; and usurps The Earldom from a better man.

_Hub_. I marry, Sir, Where is that man?

_Van_. Nay soft: and I could tell you 'Tis ten to one I would not: here's my hand, I love not _Wolfort_: sit you still, with that: Here comes my Captain again, and his fine Niece, And there's my Merchant; view him well: fill wine here.

_Enter_ Hemskirk, Gertrude, _and_ Goswin.

_Hem_. You must not only know me for your Uncle Now, but obey me: you, go cast your self Away, upon a Dunghil here? a Merchant?

A petty fellow? one that makes his Trade With Oaths and perjuries?

_Gos_. What is that you say, Sir?

If it be me you speak of, as your eye Seems to direct, I wish you would speak to me, Sir.

_Hem_. Sir, I do say, she is no Merchandize, Will that suffice you?

_Gos_. Merchandize good Sir?

Though ye be Kinsman to her, take no leave thence To use me with contempt: I ever thought Your Niece above all price.

_Hem_. And do so still, Sir, I a.s.sure you, her rates are more than you are worth.

_Gos_. You do not know, what a Gentleman's worth, Sir, Nor can you value him.

_H[u]b_. Well said Merchant.

_Van_. Nay, Let him alone, and ply your matter.

_Hem_. A Gentleman?

What o'the Wool-pack? or the Sugar-chest?

Or lists of Velvet? which is't pound, or yard, You vent your Gentry by?

_Hub_. O _Hemskirk_, fye.

_Van_. Come, do not mind 'em, drink, he is no _Wolfort_, Captain, I advise you.

_Hem_. Alas, my pretty man, I think't be angry, by its look: Come hither, Turn this way, a little: if it were the blood Of _Charlemaine_, as't may (for ought I know) Be some good Botchers issue, here in _Bruges_.

_Gos_. How?

_Hem_. Nay: I'me not certain of that; of this I am, If it once buy, and sell, its Gentry is gone.

_Gos_. Ha, ha.

_Hem._ You are angry, though ye laugh.

_Gos._ No, now 'tis pity Of your poor argument. Do not you, the Lords Of Land (if you be any) sell the gra.s.s, The Corn, the Straw, the Milk, the Cheese?

_Van._ And b.u.t.ter: Remember b.u.t.ter; do not leave out b.u.t.ter.

_Gos._ The Beefs and Muttons that your grounds are stor'd with?

Swine, with the very mast, beside the Woods?

_Hem._ No, for those sordid uses we have Tenants, Or else our Bailiffs.

_Gos._ Have not we, Sir, Chap-men, And Factors, then to answer these? your honour Fetch'd from the Heralds _ABC_, and said over With your Court faces, once an hour, shall never Make me mistake my self. Do not your Lawyers Sell all their practice, as your Priests their prayers?

What is not bought, and sold? The company That you had last, what had you for't, i'faith?

_Hem._ You now grow sawcy.

_Gos._ Sure I have been bred Still, with my honest liberty, and must use it.

_Hem._ Upon your equals then.

_Gos._ Sir, he that will Provoke me first, doth make himself my equal.

_Hem._ Do ye hear? no more.

_Gos._ Yes, Sir, this little, I pray you, And't shall be aside, then after, as you please.

You appear the Uncle, Sir, to her I love More than mine eyes; and I have heard your scorns With so much scoffing, and so much shame, As each strive which is greater: But, believe me, I suck'd not in this patience with my milk.

Do not presume, because you see me young, Or cast despights on my profession For the civility and tameness of it.

A good man bears a contumely worse Than he would do an injury. Proceed not To my offence: wrong is not still successful, Indeed it is not: I would approach your Kins-woman With all respect, done to your self and her.

_Hem._ Away Companion: handling her? take that. [_Strikes him._

_Gos._ Nay, I do love no blows, Sir, there's exchange.

_Hub._ Hold, Sir. (_He gets_ Hemskirks _sword and cuts him on the head._

_Mar._ O murther.

_Ger._ Help my _Goswin_.

_Mar._ Man.

_Van._ Let 'em alone; my life for one.

_Gos._ Nay come, If you have will.

_Hub._ None to offend you, I, Sir.

_Gos._ He that had, thank himself: not hand her? yes Sir, And clasp her, and embrace her; and (would she Now go with me) bear her through all her Race, Her Father, Brethren, and her Uncles, arm'd, And all their Nephews, though they stood a wood Of Pikes, and wall of Canon: kiss me _Gertrude_, Quake not, but kiss me.

_Van._ Kiss him, Girl, I bid you; My Merchant Royal; fear no Uncles: hang 'em, Hang up all Uncles: Are not we in _Bruges_?

Under the Rose here?

_Gos._ In this circle, Love, Thou art as safe, as in a Tower of Bra.s.s; Let such as do wrong, fear.

_Van._ I, that's good, Let _Wolfort_ look to that.

_Gos._ Sir, here she stands, Your Niece, and my beloved. One of these t.i.tles She must apply to; if unto the last, Not all the anger can be sent unto her, In frown, or voyce, or other art, shall force her, Had _Hercules_ a hand in't: Come, my Joy, Say thou art mine, aloud Love, and profess it.