ANA. About the second day of the third week, In the ninth month? SUB. Yes, my good Ananias. TRI. What will the orphan's goods arise to, think you? SUB. Some hundred marks, as much as fill'd three cars, Unladed now: you'll make six millions of them.-- But I must have more coals laid in. TRI. How? SUB. Another load, And then we have finish'd. We must now increase Our fire to ignis ardens; we are past Fimus equinus, balnei, cineris, And all those lenter heats. If the holy purse Should with this draught fall low, and that the saints Do need a present sum, I have a trick To melt the pewter, you shall buy now, instantly, And with a tincture make you as good Dutch dollars As any are in Holland. TRI. Can you so? SUB. Ay, and shall 'bide the third examination. ANA. It will be joyful tidings to the brethren. SUB. But you must carry it secret. TRI. Ay; but stay, This act of coining, is it lawful? ANA. Lawful! We know no magistrate; or, if we did, This is foreign coin. SUB. It is no coining, sir. It is but casting. TRI. Ha! you distinguish well: Casting of money may be lawful. ANA. 'Tis, sir. TRI. Truly, I take it so. SUB. There is no scruple, Sir, to be made of it; believe Ananias: This case of conscience he is studied in. TRI. I'll make a question of it to the brethren. ANA. The brethren shall approve it lawful, doubt not. Where shall it be done? [KNOCKING WITHOUT.] SUB. For that we'll talk anon. There's some to speak with me. Go in, I pray you, And view the parcels. That's the inventory. I'll come to you straight. [EXEUNT TRIB. AND ANA.] Who is it?--Face! appear. [ENTER FACE IN HIS UNIFORM.] How now! good prize? FACE. Good pox! yond' costive cheater Never came on. SUB. How then? FACE. I have walk'd the round Till now, and no such thing. SUB. And have you quit him? FACE. Quit him! an hell would quit him too, he were happy. 'Slight! would you have me stalk like a mill-jade, All day, for one that will not yield us grains? I know him of old. SUB. O, but to have gull'd him, Had been a mastery. FACE. Let him go, black boy! And turn thee, that some fresh news may possess thee. A noble count, a don of Spain, my dear Delicious compeer, and my party-bawd, Who is come hither private for his conscience, And brought munition with him, six great slops, Bigger than three Dutch hoys, beside round trunks, Furnished with pistolets, and pieces of eight, Will straight be here, my rogue, to have thy bath, (That is the colour,) and to make his battery Upon our Dol, our castle, our cinque-port, Our Dover pier, our what thou wilt. Where is she? She must prepare perfumes, delicate linen, The bath in chief, a banquet, and her wit, For she must milk his epididimis. Where is the doxy? SUB. I'll send her to thee: And but despatch my brace of little John Leydens, And come again my self.