POST. Ay, marry, sir, that were a merry world indeed: I would hope to get more money of your worship in one quarter of a year than I can do now in a whole twelvemonth. _Enter_ BALSARO. BAL. Master Pisaro, how I have run about, How I have toil'd to-day to find you out! At home, abroad: at this man's house, at that. Why, I was here an hour ago and more, Where I was told you were, but could not find you. PIS. Faith, sir, I was here, but was driven home. Here's such a common haunt of crack-rope boys, That what for fear to have m'apparel spoil'd, Or my ruffs dirtied, or eyes struck out, I dare not walk where people do expect me. Well, things (I think) might be better look'd unto: And such coin, too, which is bestow'd on knaves, Which should, but do not, see things be reform'd, Might be employed to many better uses. But what of beardless boys or such like trash? The Spanish galleys! O, a vengeance on them! POST. Mass, this man hath the luck on't: I think I can scarce ever come to him for money, but this "A vengeance on't" and that "A vengeance on't" doth so trouble him, that I can get no coin. Well, a vengeance on't for my part; for he shall fetch the next letters himself. BROWN. I prythee, when thinkest thou the ships will be come about from Plymouth? POST. Next week, sir. HEIGH. Came you, sir, from Spain lately? POST. Ay, sir: why ask you that? HAR. Marry, sir, thou seem'st to have been in the hot countries, thy face looks so like a piece of rusty bacon. Had thy host at Plymouth meat enough in the house when thou wert there? POST. What though he had not, sir? but he had: how then? HAR. Marry, thank God for it; for otherwise he would doubtless have cut thee out in rashers to have eaten thee: thou look'st as thou wert thorough broiled already. POST. You have said, sir; but I am no meat for his mowing,[499] nor yours neither. If I had you in place where, you should find me tough enough in digestion, I warrant you. WAL. What, will you swagger, sirrah? will ye swagger? BROWN. I beseech you, sir, hold your hand! get home, ye patch![500] cannot you suffer gentlemen jest with you? POST. I'd teach him a gentle trick, and I had him off the Burse; but I'll watch him a good turn, I warrant him. MOORE. Assure ye, Master Towerson--I cannot blame him. I warrant you it is no easy loss; How think you, master stranger? by my faith, sir, There's twenty merchants will be sorry for it, That shall be partners with him in his loss. STRAN. Why, sir, what is the matter? MOORE. The Spanish galleys have beset our ships, That lately were bound out for Syria. STRAN. What not? I promise you, I am sorry for it. WAL. What an old ass is this to keep us here. Master Pisaro, pray despatch us hence.