_Cap_. For you know, _Thomas_, that the Spider and the Bee, the Spider and the Bee, do both--something, but in troth I have forgott what tis. _Un_. Tis no matter what; let us goe. _Cap_. Goe? no more but goe? though I be a Captaine, if I be not chosen in this imployment-- _Tho_. What, then, Captaine? _Cap_. Why, then--I cannot goe. _Tho_. Very right; but wo' not those young gentlewomen you talk'd of give a man something to make a man afraid of pepper upon occasion? _Cap_. You will be prating so long till I breake your head for pretending to that which you have not, sirra. _Tho_. Alas, I never had it in my life. _Un_. What's that, Captaine? _Cap_. Wit, I talke of wit. _Un_, Who has any wit? does my man offer to have wit? _Cap_. Nay, take no offence at it, for I meant none to either of you by this sack. Drawer, give me my oath, cannot you drinke without wit? cannot you game without wit? _Un_. And yet by your favour the gamesters are cald the wits now. _Cap_. Tis no wit to cozen; confederacy and dishonesty will doo't without wit. Ile iustifie it: do not you know the receit of Cozenage? take an ounce of knavery at the least,--and confederacie is but so many knaves put together,--then you must take a very fine young Codling heire and pound him as small as you can. _Un_. And what then, Captaine? _Cap_. Why, then you must cozen him. _Un_. But which way? _Cap_. Which way? Why, which way you will: is not cozen him enough? thou art a pretty fellow, ile talke with thee. Thy name's _Thomas_; take heed, I say still, _Thomas_, of being drunke, for it doth drowne the mortall soule; and yours cannot swim, _Thomas_,--can it? _Tho_. Not as I know, Captaine; if it scape fire tis as much as I looke for. _Within Eng_. Oh--oh-- _Cap_. What's that? _Tho_. Tis Mr. _Engine_ recovered from his dead sleepe. [_Exit_. _Un_. D'ee heare, Captaine, for all this I have a great mind to a wench, and a wench I must have if there be one above ground. Oh _London, London_, thou art full of frank tenements, give me _London_. Shall we wheele about yet? _Cap_. Give you _London_? Wo'nott _Cheapeside_ serve your turne, or the _Exchange_? _Enter Thomas_. _Tho_. Oh, gentlemen, Mr. _Engine_ is surely bewitch'd. _Cap_. What, what's the matter? bring the witch and Mr. _Engine_ before us. _Tho_. He does vomit the strangest things yonder. _Cap_. Did not I say, murder will out? _Tho_. I thinke he has eaten and drunke nothing but Monopolies, and too hard to be digested they come up againe. _Within Eng_. Oh! _Tho_. Harke, I must hold his head. [_Exit_. _Cap_. Did not I tell you something would come out? _Tho_. Pins, pins, they lay across his throat. I told you he was bewitch'd. Heyday! cards and dice, out with 'em, the Divells a gamester and paies the box soundly--Now, now, now. _Un_. Whats that? _Tho_. Tis something clammy,--now,--oh, tis sope! _Cap_. Sope? give a man leave to wash his mouth. _Un_. Does not the lyme burne his throat, _Thomas_?