Scrib.  For which hee that protects all inocence Will in good tyme reward you.

Wyfe.  Praye, in, in; This could is prejuditiall to your Healthes.  I’l count you boathe my twinnes.

[Ext.  Wife, Palestra, and Scribonia.

Ashb.  Strange alteration!  Skoldinge is turn’d to pittye, spleen and mallyce To mercye and compassion.

Fisher.  But your promisse Tutchinge my budgett?

Ashb.  Godfreye, beare it in And lodge it safe; there’s no tyme for that; We’ll talke of it herafter.

Godf.  Fellow Gripus, I am made for this tyme porter.  Ladeys, your trusty treasurer.
                    [Ext.  Ashbourne and Godfrey.

Gripus.  These are the fishermen and I the fishe catcht in the nett; well my comfort is, thoughe my booty have made me no ritcher then I was, poorer then I am I canott bee.  Nowe[136] wherein is the ritche more happy then the poore?  I thinke rather lesse blessed and that shall approue by this excellent good ballet, thoughe sett to a scurvy tune.

    Lett ech man speake as he’s possest
    I hold the poore man’s state most blest. 
    For if longe lyfe contentment bredes,
    In that the poore the ritche exceedes;

    The ritch man’s dayes are short, as spent
    In pleasures and supposed content;
    Whylst to us poore men care and troble
    Makes every hower wee wast seeme duble.

    He that hathe ech daye to his backe
    Chandge of gaye suites, whylst wee alacke
    Have but one coate, that coorse and ould,
    Yet it defends us from the could;

    As warme too in an equll eye
    As they in all theere purple dye;
    ’Mongst all theere store, they weare, we see,
    But one at once, and so do wee.

    The ritche that at his table feasts
    With choyse of dayntyes, sundry guests,
    In all his plenty can but fill
    One belly; so the poore can still

    With cheese and onions and disguest[137]
    As well with them as th’others feast. 
    The pesent with his homespoon lasse
    As many merry howers may passe

    As coortiers with there sattin guerles,
    Though ritchly dect in gould and pearles;
    And, though but pleyne, to purpose wooe,
    Nay ofttymes with lesse danger too.

And yet for all this I have one crotchett left in my fate to bate a new hooke for the gold in the portmanteau.

[Exit.

Actus 4to.

SCENA 3A.

    Enter Dennis with the Fryar from aboue upon his backe.