een
us two: You shall deal, Jack:--Who I, Mr Justice! that's a good
one; you must give me use for your hand then; that's six i'the
hundred.--Come, lift, lift;--mine's a ten; Mr Justice:--mine's a king;
oh ho, Jack, you deal. I have the advantage of this, i'faith, if I can
keep it. [_He deals twelve a piece, two by two, and looks on his
own cards_.] I take seven, and look on this--Now for you, Jack
Loveby.

_Enter_ LOVEBY _behind_.

_Lov_. How's this? Am I the man he fights with?

_Trice_. I'll do you right, Jack; as I am an honest man, you
must discard this; there's no other way: If you were my own brother, I
could do no better for you.--Zounds, the rogue has a quint-major, and
three aces younger hand.--[_Looks on the other cards_.] Stay;
what am I for the point? But bare forty, and he fifty-one: Fifteen,
and five for the point, twenty, and three by aces, twenty-three;
well, I am to play first: one, twenty-three; two, twenty-three; three,
twenty-three; four, twenty-three;--Pox on't, now I must play into his
hand: five:--now you take it, Jack;--five, twenty-four, twenty-five,
twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, and the
cards forty.

_Lov_. Hitherto it goes well on my side.--

_Trice_. Now I deal: How many do you take, Jack? All. Then I am
gone: What a rise is here! Fourteen by aces, and a sixieme-major; I
am gone, without looking into my cards.--[_Takes up an ace and
bites it_.] Ay, I thought so: If ever man play'd with such cursed
fortune, I'll be hanged, and all for want of this damned ace--there's
your ten pieces, with a pox to you, for a rooking beggarly rascal as
you are.

LOVEBY _enters_.

_Lov_. What occasion have I given you for these words, sir? Rook
and rascal! I am no more rascal than yourself, sir.

_Trice_. How's this! how's this!

_Lov_. And though for this time I put up, because I am a winner--
[_Snatches the gold_.

_Trice_. What a devil do'st thou put up? Not my gold, I hope,
Jack?

_Lov_. By your favour, but I do; and 'twas won fairly: a sixieme,
and fourteen by aces, by your own confession,--What a pox, we don't
make childrens' play, I hope?

_Trice_. Well, remember this, Jack; from this hour I forswear
playing with you when I am alone; what, will you bate me nothing on't?

_Lov_. Not a farthing, Justice; I'll be judged by you; if I had
lost, you would have taken every piece on't: What I win, I win--and
there's an end.

_Enter Servant_.

_Serv_. Sir, the