Ananias!
Please the profane, to grieve the godly; I may not.
Well, Ananias, thou shalt overcome.
It is an ignorant zeal that haunts him, sir;
But truly, else, a very faithful Brother,
A botcher, and a man, by revelation,
That hath a competent knowledge of the truth.
Has he a competent sum there in the bag
To buy the goods within? I am made guardian,
And must, for charity, and conscience sake,
Now see the most be made for my poor orphan;
Though I desire the Brethren too good gainers:
There they are within. When you have viewed and bought ’em,
And ta’en the inventory of what they are,
They are ready for projection; there’s no more
To do: cast on the medicine, so much silver
As there is tin there, so much gold as brass,
I’ll give’t you in by weight.
But how long time,
Sir, must the saints expect yet?
Let me see,
How’s the moon now? Eight, nine, ten days hence,
He will be silver potate; then three days
Before he citronise: Some fifteen days,
The magisterium will be perfected.
About the second day of the third week,
In the ninth month?
Yes, my good Ananias.
What will the orphan’s goods arise to, think you?
Some hundred marks, as much as filled three cars,
Unladed now: you’ll make six millions of them.—
But I must have more coals laid in.
How?
Another load,
And then we have finished. We must now increase
Our fire to ignis ardens; we are past
Fimus equinus, balnei, cineris,
And all those lenter heats. If the holy purse
Should with this draught fall low, and that the saints
Do need a present sum, I have a trick
To melt the pewter, you shall buy now, instantly,
And with a tincture make you as good Dutch dollars
As any are in Holland.
Can you so?
Ay, and shall ’bide the third examination.
It will be joyful tidings to the Brethren.
But you must carry it secret.
Ay; but stay,
This act of coining, is it lawful?
Lawful!
We know no magistrate; or, if we did,
This is foreign coin.
It is no coining, sir.
It is but casting.
Ha! You distinguish well:
Casting of money may be lawful.
’Tis, sir.
Truly, I take it so.
There is no scruple,
Sir, to be made of it; believe Ananias:
This case of conscience he is studied in.
I’ll make a question of it to the Brethren.
The Brethren shall approve it lawful, doubt not.
Where shall it be done?
For that we’ll talk anon.
There’s some to speak with me. Go in, I pray you,
And view the parcels. That’s the inventory.
I’ll come to you straight.
Who is it?—Face! Appear.
How now! Good prize?
Good pox! Yond’ costive cheater
Never came on.
How then?
I have walked the round
Till now, and no such thing.
And have you quit him?
Quit him! An hell would quit him too, he were happy.
’Slight! Would you have me stalk like a mill-jade,
All day, for one that will not yield us grains?
I know him of old.
O, but to have gulled him,
Had been a mastery.
Let him go, black boy!
And turn thee, that some fresh news may possess thee.
A noble count, a don of Spain, my dear
Delicious compeer, and my party-bawd,
Who is come hither private for his conscience,
And brought munition with him, six great slops,
Bigger than three Dutch hoys, beside round trunks,
Furnished with pistolets, and pieces of eight,
Will straight be here, my rogue, to have thy bath,
(That is the colour,) and to make his battery
Upon our Dol, our castle, our Cinque-Port,
Our Dover pier, our what thou wilt. Where is she?
She must prepare perfumes, delicate linen,
The bath in chief, a banquet, and her wit,
For she must milk his epididimis.
Where is the doxy?
I’ll send her to thee:
And but despatch my brace of little John Leydens,
And come again myself.
Are they within then?
Numbering the sum.
How much?
A hundred marks, boy.
Why, this is a lucky day. Ten pounds of Mammon!
Three of my clerk! A portague of my grocer!
This of the Brethren! Beside reversions,
And states to come in the widow, and my count!
My share today will not be bought for forty—
What?
Pounds, dainty Dorothy! Art thou so near?
Yes; say, lord General, how fares our camp?
As with the few that had entrenched themselves
Safe, by their discipline, against a world, Dol,
And laughed within those trenches, and grew fat
With thinking on the booties, Dol, brought in
Daily by their small parties. This dear hour,
A doughty don is taken with my Dol;
And thou mayst make his ransom what thou wilt,
My Dousabel; he shall be brought here fettered
With thy fair looks, before he sees thee; and thrown
In a down-bed, as dark as any dungeon;
Where thou shalt keep him waking with thy drum;
Thy drum, my Dol, thy drum; till he be tame
As the poor blackbirds were in the great frost,
Or bees are with a bason; and so hive him
In the swanskin coverlid, and cambric sheets,
Till he work honey and wax, my little God’s-gift.
What is he, General?
An adalantado,
A grandee, girl. Was not my Dapper here yet?
No.
Nor my Drugger?
Neither.
A pox on ’em,
They are so long a furnishing! Such stinkards
Would not be seen upon these festival days.—
How now! Have you done?
Done. They are gone: the sum
Is here in bank, my Face. I would we knew
Another chapman now would buy ’em outright.
’Slid, Nab shall do’t against he have the widow,
To furnish household.
Excellent, well thought on:
Pray God he come!
I pray he keep away
Till our new business be o’erpast.
But, Face,
How cam’st thou by this secret don?
A spirit
Brought me th’ intelligence in a paper here,
As I was conjuring yonder in my circle
For Surly; I have my flies abroad. Your bath
Is famous, Subtle, by
