Arn. These are no wants
If put in ballance with Zenocias loss;
In that alone all miseries are spoken: 
O my Rutilio, when I think on her,
And that which she may suffer, being a Captive,
Then I could curse my self, almost those powers
That send me from the fury of the Ocean.

Rut.  You have lost a wife indeed, a fair and chast one,
Two blessings, not found often in one woman;
But she may be recovered, questionless
The ship that took us was of Portugal,
And here in Lisbon, by some means or other
We may hear of her.

Arn.  In that hope I live.

Rut.  And so do I, but hope is a poor Sallad To dine and sup with, after a two dayes fast too, Have you no mony left?

Arn.  Not a Denier.

Rut.  Nor any thing to pawn? ’tis now in fashion, Having a Mistress, sure you should not be Without a neat Historical shirt.

Arn.  For shame Talk not so poorly.

Rut.  I must talk of that
Necessity prompts us to, for beg I cannot,
Nor am I made to creep in at a window,
To filch to feed me, something must be done,
And suddenly resolve on’t.

Enter Zabulon and a Servant.

Arn.  What are these?

Rut.  One by his habit is a Jew.

Zab.  No more:  Thou art sure that’s he.

Ser.  Most certain.

Zab.  How long is it Since first she saw him?

Ser.  Some two hours.

Zab.  Be gone—­let me alone to work him. [Exit Ser.

Rut.  How he eyes you!  Now he moves towards us, in the Devils name What would he with us?

Arn.  Innocence is bold:  Nor can I fear.

Zab.  That you are poor and strangers, I easily perceive.

Rut.  But that you’l help us, Or any of your tribe, we dare not hope Sir.

Zab.  Why think you so?

Rut.  Because you are a Jew Sir, And courtesies come sooner from the Devil Than any of your Nation.

Zab.  We are men,
And have like you, compassion when we find
Fit subjects for our bounty, and for proof
That we dare give, and freely, not to you Sir,
Pray spare your pains, there’s gold, stand not amaz’d,
’Tis current I assure you.

Rut.  Take it man,
Sure thy good Angel is a Jew, and comes
In his own shape to help thee:  I could wish now
Mine would appear too like a Turk.

Arn.  I thank you,
But yet must tell you, if this be the Prologue
To any bad act, you would have me practise,
I must not take it.

Zab.  This is but the earnest
Of [t]hat which is to follow, and the bond
Which you must seal to for’t, is your advancement,
Fortune with all that’s in her power to give,
Offers her self up to you:  entertain her,
And that which Princes have kneel’d for in vain
Presents it self to you.