+Cyph.+ Yes, sir, a lady in distress; for I Could overhear the fellow say she must Sell her coach-horses, and return again To her needle, if your nephew don't supply her With money. +Ware.+ This is some honourable sempstress. I am now confirm'd: they say he keeps a lady, And this is she. Well, Cypher, 'tis too late To change my project now. Be sure you keep A diary of his actions; strictly mark What company comes to him; if he stir Out of my house, observe the place he enters: Watch him, till he come out: follow him (disguis'd) To all his haunts. +Cyph.+ He shall not want a spy, sir. But, sir, when you are absent, if he draw not A lattice to your door, and hang a bush out---- +Ware.+ I hope he will not make my house a tavern. +Cyph.+ Sir, I am no Sybil's son. +Ware.+ Peace, here he comes. SCENE III. _Enter +Plotwell+, in a sad posture. +Warehouse+, +Plotwell+, +Cypher+._ +Ware.+ Good morrow, nephew. How now? sad? how comes This melancholy? +Plot.+ Can I choose but wear Clouds in my face, when I must venture, sir, Your reverend age to a long-doubtful voyage, And not partake your dangers? +Ware.+ Fie! these fears, Though they become you, nephew, are ominous. When heard you from your father? +Plot.+ Never since He made the escape, sir. +Ware.+ I hear he is in Ireland: Is't true he took your sister with him? +Plot.+ So Her mistress thinks, sir: one day she left th' Exchange, And has not since been heard of. +Ware.+ And, nephew, How like you your new course; which place prefer you-- The Temple or Exchange? Where are, think you, The wealthier mines--in the Indies or Westminster Hall? +Plot.+ Sir, my desires take measure And form from yours. +Ware.+ Nay, tell me your mind plainly I' th' city-tongue. I'd have you speak like Cypher: I do not like quaint figures, they do smell Too much o' th' inns-of-court. +Plot.+ Sir, my obedience Is ready for all impressions which---- +Ware.+ Again! +Plot.+ Sir, I prefer your kind of life, a merchant. +Ware.+ 'Tis spoken like my nephew; now I like you, Nor shall I e'er repent the benefits I have bestow'd; but will forget all errors [_Exit +Cypher+._ As mere seducements, and will not only be An uncle, but a father to you; but then You must be constant, nephew. +Plot.+ Else I were blind To my good fortune, sir. +Ware.+ Think, man, how it may In time make thee o' th' city-senate, and raise thee To the sword and cap of maintenance. +Plot.+ Yes, and make me Sentence light bread and pounds of butter on horseback. [_Aside._ +Ware.+ Have gates and conduits dated from thy year; Ride to the 'spital on thy free beast.