ATION.]

TRI. 'Tis well, the saints shall not lose all yet. Go,
And get some carts--

LOVE. For what, my zealous friends?

ANA. To bear away the portion of the righteous
Out of this den of thieves.

LOVE. What is that portion?

ANA. The goods sometimes the orphan's, that the brethren
Bought with their silver pence.

LOVE. What, those in the cellar,
The knight sir Mammon claims?

ANA. I do defy
The wicked Mammon, so do all the brethren,
Thou profane man! I ask thee with what conscience
Thou canst advance that idol against us,
That have the seal? were not the shillings number'd,
That made the pounds; were not the pounds told out,
Upon the second day of the fourth week,
In the eighth month, upon the table dormant,
The year of the last patience of the saints,
Six hundred and ten?

LOVE. Mine earnest vehement botcher,
And deacon also, I cannot dispute with you:
But if you get you not away the sooner,
I shall confute you with a cudgel.

ANA. Sir!

TRI. Be patient, Ananias.

ANA. I am strong,
And will stand up, well girt, against an host
That threaten Gad in exile.

LOVE. I shall send you
To Amsterdam, to your cellar.

ANA. I will pray there,
Against thy house: may dogs defile thy walls,
And wasps and hornets breed beneath thy roof,
This seat of falsehood, and this cave of cozenage!

[EXEUNT ANA. AND TRIB.]

[ENTER DRUGGER.]

LOVE. Another too?

DRUG. Not I, sir, I am no brother.

LOVE [BEATS HIM]. Away, you Harry Nicholas! do you talk?

[EXIT DRUG.]

FACE. No, this was Abel Drugger. Good sir, go,
[TO THE PARSON.]
And satisfy him; tell him all is done:
He staid too long a washing of his face.
The doctor, he shall hear of him at West-chester;
And of the captain, tell him, at Yarmouth, or
Some good port-town else, lying for a wind.
[EXIT PARSON.]
If you can get off the angry child, now, sir--

[ENTER KASTRIL, DRAGGING IN HIS SISTER.]

KAS. Come on, you ewe, you have match'd most sweetly,
have you not?
Did not I say, I would never have you tupp'd
But by a dubb'd boy, to make you a lady-tom?
'Slight, you are a mammet! O, I could touse you, now.
Death, mun' you marry, with a pox!

LOVE. You lie, boy;
As sound as you; and I'm aforehand with you.

KAS. Anon!

LOVE. Come, will you quarrel? I will feize you, sirrah;
Why do you not buckle to your tools?

KAS. Od