HEIGH. Come, gentlemen, we're almost at the house. I promise you, this walk o'er Tower-hill, Of all the places London can afford, Hath sweetest air, and fitting our desires. HAR. Good reason so, it leads to Crutched Friars, Where old Pisaro and his daughters dwell. Look to your feet: the broad way leads to hell. They say hell stands below, down in the deep, I'll down that hell, where such good wenches keep But, sirrah Ned, what says Mathea to thee? Wilt fadge?[488] wilt fadge? What, will it be a match? WAL. A match, say you? a mischief 'twill as soon; For I can scarce begin to speak to her, But I am interrupted by her father; "Ha! what say you?" and then puts o'er his snout, Able to shadow Paul's, it is so great.[489] Well, 'tis no matter, sirs, this is his house: Knock for the churl, bid him bring out his daughter; Ay, 'sblood,[490] I will, though I be hang'd for it. HEIGH. Heyday, heyday! nothing with you but up and ride! You'll be within, ere you can reach the door! And have the wench, before you compass her. You are too hasty: Pisaro is a man, Not to be fed with words, but won with gold. But who comes here? _Enter_ ANTHONY. WAL. Whom? Anthony our friend? Say, man, how fare our loves? how doth Mathea? Can she love Ned? how doth she like my suit? Will old Pisaro take me for his son? For, I thank God, he kindly takes our lands, Swearing, "Good gentlemen, you shall not want, Whilst old Pisaro and his credit hold:" He will be damn'd, the rogue, before he do't! HAR. Prythee, talk milder: let but thee alone, And thou in one bare hour will ask him more Than he'll remember in a hundred years. Come from him, Anthony, and say, what news. ANTH. The news for me is bad; and this it is: Pisaro hath discharg'd me of his service. HEIGH. Discharg'd thee of his service! for what cause? ANTH. Nothing, But that his daughters learn philosophy. HAR. Maids should read that; it teacheth modesty. ANTH. Ay, but I left out mediocrity, And with effectual reasons urged your loves. WAL. The fault was small: we three will to thy master, And beg thy pardon. ANTH. O, that cannot be: He hates you far worse than he hates me; For all the love he shows is for your lands, Which he hopes, sure, will fall into his hands. Yet, gentlemen, this comfort take of me, His daughters to your loves affected be. Their father is abroad, they three at home. Go cheerly in, and seize that is your own. And, for myself, but grace what I intend: I'll overreach the churl, and help my friend. HEIGH. Build on our helps, and but devise the means.