+Sale.+ Then remember How you rate salads, Roseclap; one may buy Gardens as cheap. +Rose.+ Yes, Master Salewit, salads Taken from Euclid, made in diagrams, And to be eaten in figures. +Quart.+ And we must pay for your inventions, sir? +Rose.+ Or you are damn'd: Good captain, you have sworn to pay this twelvemonth. +Quart.+ Peace! you loud, bawling cur; do you disgrace me Before these gallants? See if I don't kill you. SCENE VI. _Enter +Bright+, +Newcut+, +Timothy+, +Plotwell+._ +Bright.+ Save you, Captain Quartfield, and my brave wit, My man of Helicon. Salute this gentleman, He is a city wit. +New.+ A corporation went to the bringing of him forth. +Quart.+ I embrace him. +Sale.+ And so do I. +Tim.+ You are a poet, sir, And can make verses, I hear? +Sale.+ Sir, I am A servant to the Muses. +Tim.+ I have made Some speeches, sir, in verse, which have been spoke By a green Robin Goodfellow from Cheapside conduit,[216] To my father's company, and mean this afternoon To make an epithalamium upon my wedding. A lady fell in love with me this morning: Ask Master Francis here. +Plot.+ Heart! you spoil all. Did not I charge you to be silent? +Tim.+ That's true; I had forgot. You are a captain, sir? +Quart.+ I have seen service, sir. +Tim.+ Captain, I love Men of the sword and buff; and if need were, I can roar too, and hope to swear in time, Do you see, captain? +Plot.+ Nay, captain, we have brought you A gentleman of valour, who has been In Moorfields often: marry, it has been To 'squire his sisters, and demolish custards At Pimlico.[217] [_+Timothy+ walks aside._ +Quart.+ Afore me, Master Plotwell; I never hop'd to see you in silk again. +Sale.+ I look'd the next Lord Mayor's day to see you o' th' livery, Or one o' th' bachelor whifflers.[218] +Quart.+ What, is your uncle dead? +Plot.+ He may in time: he's gone To sea this morning, captain; and I am come Into your order again. But hark you, captain, What think you of a fish now? +Quart.+ Mad wags, mad wags. +Bright.+ By Heaven, it's true. Here we have brought one with us. +New.+ Rich Seathrift's son: he'll make a rare sea-monster. +Quart.+ And shall's be merry, i' faith? +Bright.+ Salewit shall make a song upon him. +New.+ And Roseclap's boy shall sing it. +Sale.+ We have the properties of the last fish.[219] +Quart.+ And if I At dinner do not give him sea enough, And afterwards, if I and Salewit do not Show him much better than he that shows the Tombs, Let me be turned into a sword-fish myself. +Plot.+ A natural change for a captain! How now, Roseclap, Pensive, and cursing the long vacation? Thou look'st as if thou mean'st to break shortly.