FACE. Sir, he does pray, you'll not forget. SUR. I will not, sir. Sir Epicure, I shall leave you. [EXIT.] MAM. I follow you, straight. FACE. But do so, good sir, to avoid suspicion. This gentleman has a parlous head. MAM. But wilt thou Ulen, Be constant to thy promise? FACE. As my life, sir. MAM. And wilt thou insinuate what I am, and praise me, And say, I am a noble fellow? FACE. O, what else, sir? And that you'll make her royal with the stone, An empress; and yourself, King of Bantam. MAM. Wilt thou do this? FACE. Will I, sir! MAM. Lungs, my Lungs! I love thee. FACE. Send your stuff, sir, that my master May busy himself about projection. MAM. Thou hast witch'd me, rogue: take, go. [GIVES HIM MONEY.] FACE. Your jack, and all, sir. MAM. Thou art a villain--I will send my jack, And the weights too. Slave, I could bite thine ear. Away, thou dost not care for me. FACE. Not I, sir! MAM. Come, I was born to make thee, my good weasel, Set thee on a bench, and have thee twirl a chain With the best lord's vermin of 'em all. FACE. Away, sir. MAM. A count, nay, a count palatine-- FACE. Good, sir, go. MAM. Shall not advance thee better: no, nor faster. [EXIT.] [RE-ENTER SUBTLE AND DOL.] SUB. Has he bit? has he bit? FACE. And swallowed, too, my Subtle. I have given him line, and now he plays, i'faith. SUB. And shall we twitch him? FACE. Thorough both the gills. A wench is a rare bait, with which a man No sooner's taken, but he straight firks mad. SUB. Dol, my Lord What'ts'hums sister, you must now Bear yourself statelich. DOL. O let me alone. I'll not forget my race, I warrant you. I'll keep my distance, laugh and talk aloud; Have all the tricks of a proud scurvy lady, And be as rude as her woman. FACE. Well said, sanguine! SUB. But will he send his andirons? FACE. His jack too, And's iron shoeing-horn; I have spoke to him. Well, I must not lose my wary gamester yonder. SUB. O monsieur Caution, that WILL NOT BE GULL'D? FACE. Ay, If I can strike a fine hook into him, now! The Temple-church, there I have cast mine angle. Well, pray for me. I'll about it. [KNOCKING WITHOUT.] SUB. What, more gudgeons! Dol, scout, scout! [DOL GOES TO THE WINDOW.] Stay, Face, you must go to the door, 'Pray God it be my anabaptist--Who is't, Dol? DOL. I know him not: he looks like a gold-endman.