WASPE. Bless 'em with all my heart, with all my heart, do you see! now, as I am no infidel, that I know of, I am glad on't. Ay, I am, (here's my witness,) do you see, sir? I did not tell you of his fables, I! no, no, I am a dull malt horse, I, I know nothing. Are you not justly served, in your conscience, now, speak in your conscience? Much good do you with all my heart, and his good heart that has it, with all my heart again. EDG. This fellow is very charitable, would he had a purse too! but I must not be too bold all at a time. [_Aside._ COKES. Nay, Numps, it is not my best purse. WASPE. Not your best! death! why should it be your worst? why should it be any, indeed, at all? answer me to that, give me a reason from you, why it should be any? COKES. Nor my gold, Numps; I have that yet, look here else, sister. [_Shews the other purse._ WASPE. Why so, there's all the feeling he has! MRS. OVER. I pray you, have a better care of that, brother. COKES. Nay, so I will, I warrant you; let him catch this that catch can. I would fain see him get this, look you here. WASPE. So, so, so, so, so, so, so, so! very good. COKES. I would have him come again now, and but offer at it. Sister, will you take notice of a good jest? I will put it just where the other was, and if we have good luck, you shall see a delicate fine trap to catch the cut-purse nibbling. EDG. Faith, and he'll try ere you be out o' the Fair. [_Aside._ COKES. Come, mistress Grace, prithee be not melancholy for my mischance; sorrow will not keep it, sweet-heart. GRACE. I do not think on't, sir. COKES. 'Twas but a little scurvy white money, hang it! it may hang the cut-purse one day. I have gold left to give thee a fairing yet, as hard as the world goes. Nothing angers me but that no body here look'd like a cut-purse, unless 'twere Numps. WASPE. How! I, I look like a cut-purse? death! your sister's a cut-purse! and your mother and father, and all your kin were cut-purses! and here is a rogue is the bawd o' the cut-purses, whom I will beat to begin with. [_They speak all together; and Waspe beats Overdo._ OVER. Hold thy hand, child of wrath, and heir of anger, make it not Childermass day in thy fury, or the feast of the French Bartholomew, parent of the massacre. COKES. Numps, Numps! MRS. OVER. Good master Humphrey! WASPE. You are the Patrico, are you? the patriarch of the cut-purses? You share, sir, they say; let them share this with you. Are you in your hot fit of preaching again? I'll cool you. OVER. Murther, murther, murther! [_Exeunt._ ACT III SCENE I.--_The Fair._ _LANTHORN LEATHERHEAD, JOAN TRASH, and others, sitting by their wares, as before._ _Enter WHIT, HAGGISE, and BRISTLE._