RICH. But the worst accent that ever you heard; I speak a screech-owl's note. O, you have made The most unhappiest bargain that ever merchant did! O. FOS. Ha? What can so baleful be, as thou wouldst seem To make by this sad prologue? I am no traitor, To confiscate my goods: speak, whate'er it be. RICH. I would you could conceit it, that I might Not speak it. O. FOS. Dally not with torments, Sink me at once. RICH. Now you've spoke it half; 'Tis sinking I must treat of: your ships are all sunk. O. FOS. Ha! MRS FOS. O thou fatal raven! let me pull thine eyes out For this sad croak. [_Flies at_ RICHARD. O. FOS. Hold, woman! hold, prythee! 'tis none of his fault. MRS FOS. No, no, 'tis thine, thou wretch; and therefore Let me turn my vengeance all on thee; thou Hast made hot haste to empty all my warehouses, And made room for that the sea hath drunk before thee. O. FOS. Undone for ever! Where could this mischief fall? Were not my ships in their full pride at Dover; And what English Charybdis has the devil digg'd To swallow nearer home. RICH. Even in the mouth And entrance of the Thames they were all cast away. O. FOS. Dam up thy mouth From any further mischievous relation. RICH. Some men were sav'd, but not one pennyworth Of goods. O. FOS. Even now thy baleful utterance Was chok'd, and now it runs too fast; Thou fatal bird, no more. MRS FOS. May serpents breed, And fill this fatal stream, and poison her for ever. O. FOS. O, curse not; they come too fast! MRS FOS. Let me curse somewhere, wretch, or else I'll throw Them all on thee; 'tis thou, ungodly slave, That art the mark unto the wrath of heaven: I thriv'd ere I knew thee. O. FOS. I prythee, split me too. MRS FOS. I would I could! I would I had ne'er seen thee, For I ne'er saw hour of comfort since I knew thee. O. FOS. Undone for ever! My credit I have crack'd To buy a venture, which the sea has soak'd; What worse can woe report? MRS FOS. Yes, worse than all, Thy enemies will laugh, and scorn thy fall. O. FOS. Be it the worst, then: that place I did assign My unthrifty brother, Ludgate, must now be mine. Break, and take Ludgate. MRS FOS. Take Newgate rather. O. FOS. I scorn'd my child, now he may scorn his father. MRS FOS. Scorn him still! O. FOS. I will: would he my wants relieve, I'd scorn to take what he would yield to give. My heart be still my friend, although no other. I'll scorn the help of either son or brother. My portion's begging now: seldom before, In one sad hour, was man so rich and poor. [_Exeunt._ FOOTNOTES: