PIS. Accept it, why? What, sir, should I accept? Have you received letters, and not I? Where is this lazy villain, this slow post? What, brings he every man his letters home, And makes me nobody? does he, does he? I would not have you bring me counterfeit; And if you do, assure you I shall smell it: I know my factor's writing well enough. TOW. You do, sir; then see your factor's writing. I scorn as much as you to counterfeit. PIS. 'Tis well you do, sir. _Enter_ HARVEY, WALGRAVE, _and_ HEIGHAM. What! Master Walgrave and my other friends, You are grown strangers to Pisaro's house: I pray, make bold with me. WAL. Ay, with your daughters, You may be sworn, we'll be as bold as may be. [_Aside._ PIS. Would you have aught with me? I pray now speak. HEIGH. Sir, I think you understand our suit, By the repairing we have had to you: Gentlemen, you know, must want no coin, Nor are they slaves unto it, when they have it; You may perceive our minds; what say you to't? PIS. Gentlemen all, I love you all: which more To manifest, this afternoon, between The hours of two and three, repair to me; And, were it half the substance that I have, Whilst it is mine, it is yours to command. But, gentlemen, as I have regard to you, So do I wish you'll have respect to me: You know that all of us are mortal men, Subject to change and mutability; You may, or I may, soon pitch o'er the perch, Or so--or so--have contrary crosses. Wherefore I deem [it] but mere equity, That something may betwixt us be to show. HEIGH. Master Pisaro, within this two months Without fail we'll repay. _Enter_ BROWN. BROWN. God save you, gentlemen. GENT. Good morrow, sir. PIS. What, Master Brown! the only man I wish'd for. Does your price fall? what, shall I have these cloths? For I would ship them straight away[496] for Stoade. I do wish you my money 'fore another. BROWN. Faith, you know my price, sir, if you have them. PIS. You are too dear in sadness. Master Heigham, You were about to say somewhat--pray, proceed. HEIGH. Then this it was: those lands that are not mortgag'd-- _Enter_ POST. POST. God bless your worship. PIS. I must crave pardon.--O sirrah, are you come? WAL. Heyday, heyday! What is the matter now? Sure, yonder fellow will be torn in pieces. HAR. What's he, sweet youths, that so they flock about? What, old Pisaro tainted with this madness? HEIGH. Upon my life, 'tis somebody brings news. The court breaks up, and we shall know their council: Look, look, how busily they fall to reading! PISA. I am the last: you should have kept it still. Well, we shall see what news you bring with you--