LOVE. Sir, I can take no knowledge That they are yours, but by public means. If you can bring certificate that you were gull'd of them, Or any formal writ out of a court, That you did cozen your self, I will not hold them. MAM. I'll rather lose them. LOVE. That you shall not, sir, By me, in troth: upon these terms, they are yours. What! should they have been, sir, turn'd into gold, all? MAM. No, I cannot tell--It may be they should.--What then? LOVE. What a great loss in hope have you sustain'd! MAM. Not I, the commonwealth has. FACE. Ay, he would have built The city new; and made a ditch about it Of silver, should have run with cream from Hogsden; That every Sunday, in Moorfields, the younkers, And tits and tom-boys should have fed on, gratis. MAM. I will go mount a turnip-cart, and preach The end of the world, within these two months. Surly, What! in a dream? SUR. Must I needs cheat myself, With that same foolish vice of honesty! Come, let us go and hearken out the rogues: That Face I'll mark for mine, if e'er I meet him. FACE. If I can hear of him, sir, I'll bring you word, Unto your lodging; for in troth, they were strangers To me, I thought them honest as my self, sir. [EXEUNT MAM. AND SUR.] [RE-ENTER ANANIAS AND TRIBULATION.] TRI. 'Tis well, the saints shall not lose all yet. Go, And get some carts-- LOVE. For what, my zealous friends? ANA. To bear away the portion of the righteous Out of this den of thieves. LOVE. What is that portion? ANA. The goods sometimes the orphan's, that the brethren Bought with their silver pence. LOVE. What, those in the cellar, The knight sir Mammon claims? ANA. I do defy The wicked Mammon, so do all the brethren, Thou profane man! I ask thee with what conscience Thou canst advance that idol against us, That have the seal? were not the shillings number'd, That made the pounds; were not the pounds told out, Upon the second day of the fourth week, In the eighth month, upon the table dormant, The year of the last patience of the saints, Six hundred and ten? LOVE. Mine earnest vehement botcher, And deacon also, I cannot dispute with you: But if you get you not away the sooner, I shall confute you with a cudgel. ANA. Sir! TRI. Be patient, Ananias. ANA. I am strong, And will stand up, well girt, against an host That threaten Gad in exile. LOVE. I shall send you To Amsterdam, to your cellar. ANA. I will pray there, Against thy house: may dogs defile thy walls, And wasps and hornets breed beneath thy roof, This seat of falsehood, and this cave of cozenage! [EXEUNT ANA. AND TRIB.] [ENTER DRUGGER.] LOVE. Another too? DRUG. Not I, sir, I am no brother. LOVE [BEATS HIM]. Away, you Harry Nicholas! do you talk? [EXIT DRUG.]