Sav. Good Sir look before you, he’l work you out of all else:  if you sell all your Land, you have sold your Country, and then you must to Sea, to seek your Brother, and there lye pickled in a Powdering tub, and break your teeth with Biskets and hard Beef, that must have watering Sir:  and where’s your 300 pounds a year in drink then?  If you’l tun up the Straights you may, for you have no calling for drink there, but with a Canon, nor no scoring but on your Ships sides, and then if you scape with life, and take a Faggot boat and a bottle of Usquebaugh, come home poor men, like a tipe of Thames-street stinking of Pitch and Poor-John.  I cannot tell Sir, I would be loth to see it.

Capt. Steward, you are an Ass, a meazel’d mungril, and were it not again the peace of my soveraign friend here, I would break your fore-casting Coxcomb, dog I would even with my staffe of Office there.  Thy Pen and Inkhorn Noble boy, the God of gold here has fed thee well, take mony for thy durt:  hark and believe, thou art cold of constitution, thy eat unhealthful, sell and be wise; we are three that will adorn thee, and live according to thine own heart child; mirth shall be only ours, and only ours shall be the black eyed beauties of the time.  Mony makes men Eternal.

Poet. Do what you will, ’tis the noblest course, then you may live without the charge of people, only we four will make a Family, I and an Age that will beget new Annals, in which I’le write thy life my son of pleasure, equal with Nero and Caligula.

Young Lo. What men were they Captain?

Capt.  Two roaring Boys of Rome, that made all split.

Young Lo.  Come Sir, what dare you give?

Sav.  You will not sell Sir?

Young Lo.  Who told you so Sir?

Sav.  Good Sir have a care.

Young Lo.  Peace, or I’le tack your Tongue up to your Roof.  What money? speak.

More.  Six thousand pound Sir.

Capt.  Take it, h’as overbidden by the Sun:  bind him to his bargain quickly.

Young Lo.  Come strike me luck with earnest, and draw the writings.

More.  There’s a Gods peny for thee.

Sav.  Sir for my old Masters sake let my Farm be excepted, if I become his Tenant I am undone, my Children beggers, and my Wife God knows what:  consider me dear Sir.

More.  I’le have all or none.

Young Lo.  All in, all in:  dispatch the writings. [Exit with Com.

Wid.  Go, thou art a pretty forehanded fellow, would thou wert wiser.

Sav.  Now do I sensibly begin to feel my self a Rascal; would I could teach a School, or beg, or lye well, I am utterly undone; now he that taught thee to deceive and cousen, take thee to his mercy; so be it.

[Exit Savil.