[Exeunt omnes.[186]

[SCENE 3.]

    Enter Reinaldo, Alfred, and Albert.

Alb.  But this is strange, that I should meet your[187] honour So farre from Court; pray whither were you riding?

Alf.  Unto your mannor; heard you not the newes?

Alb.  What newes?

Alf.  This morning, by the breake of day,
His excellence sent to me by a post
Letters, by which the pillars of the state
Should be assembled to a Parliament,
Which he intends, my Lords, to hold in Meath.

Alb.  When, if it please your honor?

Alf.  Instantly, With all the haste that winged time can make.

Albert.  Sooner the better; tis like the realmes affaires Are of some weight.

Alb.  I will bee there to night, And so I take my leave.

Reinal.  We take our leaves.

[Exit Albert and Reinaldo.

Alf.  Farewell, my honor’d friend.—­
There is within my braine a thousand wiles
How I may heape up riches; O the sight,
Of a gold shining Mountaine doth exceede: 
Silver is good, but in respect of gold
Thus I esteeme it.

[Exit.

[SCENE 4.]

Enter Hatto, with three petitioners.

Hat.  How now, my friends, what are you?

1.  Poore petitioners.

Hat.  Stand farther then, the poore is as unpleasing Unto me as the plague.

2.  An’t please your good Lordship, I am a Merchant, and gladly would convay a thousand quarters of wheate and other graine over the sea; and heres a hundred pounds for a commission.

Hat.  Thou art no beggar, thou shalt ha’t, my friend; Give me thy money.

3.  I, an’t please your honour, have a commoditie of good broad cloth, not past two hundred; may I shippe them over? and theres a hundred poundes.

Hat.  Thou shalt have leave.

1.  Although I seeme a poore petitioner,
My Lord, I crave a warrant to transport[188]
A hundred Cannons, fiftie Culverings,
With some slight armours, halberts, and halfe pikes;
And theres as much as any of the rest.

Hat.  Away, Cannibal! wouldst thou ship ordnance? 
What though we send unto the foes our corne
To fatten them, and cloth to keepe them warme,
Lets not be so forgetfull of our selves
As to provide them with knives to cut our throates: 
So I should arme a thiefe to take my purse. 
Hast thou no other course of Merchandize? 
Thou shouldst get gold, twill yeeld thee ten in the hundred
On bare exchange, and raise the price with us;
Make us for want coyn brasse and passe it currant
Untill we find profit to call it in. 
There are a thousand waies to make thee thrive
And Ile allow of all, bee it nere so bad,
Excepting guns to batter downe our houses.