_Van_. Nay soft: and I could tell you 'Tis ten to one I would not: here's my hand, I love not _Wolfort_: sit you still, with that: Here comes my Captain again, and his fine Niece, And there's my Merchant; view him well: fill wine here. _Enter_ Hemskirk, Gertrude, _and_ Goswin. _Hem_. You must not only know me for your Uncle Now, but obey me: you, go cast your self Away, upon a Dunghil here? a Merchant? A petty fellow? one that makes his Trade With Oaths and perjuries? _Gos_. What is that you say, Sir? If it be me you speak of, as your eye Seems to direct, I wish you would speak to me, Sir. _Hem_. Sir, I do say, she is no Merchandize, Will that suffice you? _Gos_. Merchandize good Sir? Though ye be Kinsman to her, take no leave thence To use me with contempt: I ever thought Your Niece above all price. _Hem_. And do so still, Sir, I assure you, her rates are more than you are worth. _Gos_. You do not know, what a Gentleman's worth, Sir, Nor can you value him. _H[u]b_. Well said Merchant. _Van_. Nay, Let him alone, and ply your matter. _Hem_. A Gentleman? What o'the Wool-pack? or the Sugar-chest? Or lists of Velvet? which is't pound, or yard, You vent your Gentry by? _Hub_. O _Hemskirk_, fye. _Van_. Come, do not mind 'em, drink, he is no _Wolfort_, Captain, I advise you. _Hem_. Alas, my pretty man, I think't be angry, by its look: Come hither, Turn this way, a little: if it were the blood Of _Charlemaine_, as't may (for ought I know) Be some good Botchers issue, here in _Bruges_. _Gos_. How? _Hem_. Nay: I'me not certain of that; of this I am, If it once buy, and sell, its Gentry is gone. _Gos_. Ha, ha. _Hem._ You are angry, though ye laugh. _Gos._ No, now 'tis pity Of your poor argument. Do not you, the Lords Of Land (if you be any) sell the grass, The Corn, the Straw, the Milk, the Cheese? _Van._ And Butter: Remember Butter; do not leave out Butter. _Gos._ The Beefs and Muttons that your grounds are stor'd with? Swine, with the very mast, beside the Woods? _Hem._ No, for those sordid uses we have Tenants, Or else our Bailiffs. _Gos._ Have not we, Sir, Chap-men, And Factors, then to answer these? your honour Fetch'd from the Heralds _ABC_, and said over With your Court faces, once an hour, shall never Make me mistake my self. Do not your Lawyers Sell all their practice, as your Priests their prayers? What is not bought, and sold? The company That you had last, what had you for't, i'faith? _Hem._ You now grow sawcy. _Gos._ Sure I have been bred Still, with my honest liberty, and must use it. _Hem._ Upon your equals then. _Gos._ Sir, he that will Provoke me first, doth make himself my equal. _Hem._ Do ye hear? no more.