ANA. Please you, a servant of the exiled brethren, That deal with widows' and with orphans' goods, And make a just account unto the saints: A deacon. SUB. O, you are sent from master Wholesome, Your teacher? ANA. From Tribulation Wholesome, Our very zealous pastor. SUB. Good! I have Some orphans' goods to come here. ANA. Of what kind, sir? SUB. Pewter and brass, andirons and kitchen-ware, Metals, that we must use our medicine on: Wherein the brethren may have a pennyworth For ready money. ANA. Were the orphans' parents Sincere professors? SUB. Why do you ask? ANA. Because We then are to deal justly, and give, in truth, Their utmost value. SUB. 'Slid, you'd cozen else, And if their parents were not of the faithful!-- I will not trust you, now I think on it, 'Till I have talked with your pastor. Have you brought money To buy more coals? ANA. No, surely. SUB. No! how so? ANA. The brethren bid me say unto you, sir, Surely, they will not venture any more, Till they may see projection. SUB. How! ANA. You have had, For the instruments, as bricks, and lome, and glasses, Already thirty pound; and for materials, They say, some ninety more: and they have heard since, That one at Heidelberg, made it of an egg, And a small paper of pin-dust. SUB. What's your name? ANA. My name is Ananias. SUB. Out, the varlet That cozen'd the apostles! Hence, away! Flee, mischief! had your holy consistory No name to send me, of another sound, Than wicked Ananias? send your elders Hither to make atonement for you quickly, And give me satisfaction; or out goes The fire; and down th' alembics, and the furnace, Piger Henricus, or what not. Thou wretch! Both sericon and bufo shall be lost, Tell them. All hope of rooting out the bishops, Or the antichristian hierarchy, shall perish, If they stay threescore minutes: the aqueity, Terreity, and sulphureity Shall run together again, and all be annull'd, Thou wicked Ananias! [EXIT ANANIAS.] This will fetch 'em, And make them haste towards their gulling more. A man must deal like a rough nurse, and fright Those that are froward, to an appetite. [RE-ENTER FACE, IN HIS UNIFORM, FOLLOWED BY DRUGGER.] FACE. He is busy with his spirits, but we'll upon him. SUB. How now! what mates, what Baiards have we here? FACE. I told you, he would be furious.--Sir, here's Nab, Has brought you another piece of gold to look on: --We must appease him. Give it me,--and prays you, You would devise--what is it, Nab? DRUG. A sign, sir. FACE. Ay, a good lucky one, a thriving sign, doctor. SUB. I was devising now. FACE. 'Slight, do not say so, He will repent he gave you any more-- What say you to his constellation, doctor, The Balance?