_Merc._ Suppose I were Mercury, the god of merchandise? _Phæd._ What! the god of small wares, and fripperies, of pedlers and pilferers? _Merc._ How the gipsy despises me! [_Aside._ _Phæd._ I had rather you were Plutus, the god of money; or Jupiter, in a golden shower: there was a god for us women! he had the art of making love. Dost thou think that kings, or gods either, get mistresses by their good faces? no, it is the gold, and the presents they can make; there is the prerogative they have over their fair subjects. _Merc._ All this notwithstanding, I must tell you, pretty Phædra, I am desperately in love with you. _Phæd._ And I must tell thee, ugly Sosia, thou hast not wherewithal to be in love. _Merc._ Yes, a poor man may be in love, I hope. _Phæd._ I grant a poor rogue may be in love, but he can never make love. Alas, Sosia, thou hast neither face to invite me, nor youth to please me, nor gold to bribe me; and, besides all this, thou hast a wife, poor miserable Sosia!--What, ho, Bromia! _Merc._ O thou merciless creature, why dost thou conjure up that sprite of a wife? _Phæd._ To rid myself of that devil of a poor lover. Since you are so lovingly disposed, I'll put you together to exercise your fury upon your own wedlock.--What, Bromia, I say, make haste; here is a vessel of yours, full freighted, that is going off without paying duties. _Merc._ Since thou wilt not let me steal custom, she shall have all the cargo I have gotten in the wars; but thou mightst have lent me a little creek, to smuggle in. _Phæd._ Why, what have you gotten, good gentleman soldier, besides a legion of---- [_Snaps her fingers._ _Merc._ When the enemy was routed, I had the plundering of a tent. _Phæd._ That is to say, a house of canvas, with moveables of straw.--Make haste, Bromia!---- _Merc._ But it was the general's own tent. _Phæd._ You durst not fight, I am certain; and therefore came last in, when the rich plunder was gone beforehand.--Will you come, Bromia? _Merc._ Pr'ythee, do not call so loud:--A great goblet, that holds a gallon. _Phæd._ Of what was that goblet made? answer quickly, for I am just calling very loud----Bro-- _Merc._ Of beaten gold. Now, call aloud, if thou dost not like the metal. _Phæd._ Bromia. [_Very softly._ _Merc._ That struts in this fashion, with his arms a-kimbo, like a city magistrate; and a great bouncing belly, like a hostess with child of a kilderkin of wine. Now, what say you to that present, Phædra? _Phæd._ Why, I am considering---- _Merc._ What, I pr'ythee? _Phæd._ Why, how to divide the business equally; to take the gift, and refuse the giver, thou art so damnably ugly, and so old. _Merc._ Now the devil take Jupiter, for confining me to this ungodly shape to-day! [_Aside._] but Gripus is as old and as ugly too.