Reignald. When you are fast you are safe, And with this turn ’tis done. [_Exeunt all except_ Reignald _who locks the door_.] What fools are these, To trust their ruined fortunes to his hands That hath betrayed his own, and make themselves Prisoner to one deserves to lie for all, As being cause of all! And yet something prompts me-- I’ll stand it at all dangers; and, to recompense The many wrongs unto the young man done, Now, if I can doubly delude the old-- My brain, about it, then. All’s hushed within; The noise that shall be, I must make without, And he that, part for gain and part for wit, So far hath travelled, strive to fool at home: Which to effect, art must with knavery join, And smooth dissembling meet with impudence. I’ll do my best, and howsoe’er it prove, My praise or shame, ’tis but a servant’s love. [_Retires_. _Enter_ Old Lionel, _with_ Watermen, _and two_ Servants _with burdens and caskets_. Old Lionel. Discharge these honest sailors that have brought Our chests ashore, and pray them have a care Those merchandise be safe we left aboard. As Heaven hath blessed us with a fortunate voyage, In which we bring home riches with our healths, So let not us prove niggards in our store; See them paid well, and to their full content. 1st Servant. I shall, sir. Old Lionel. Then return: these special things, And of most value, we’ll not trust aboard; Methinks they are not safe till they see home, And there repose, where we will rest ourselves, And bid farewell to travel; for I vow After this hour no more to trust the seas, Nor throw me to such danger. Reignald. I could wish You had took your leave o’ the land too. [_Aside_. Old Lionel. And now it much rejoiceth me to think What a most sudden welcome I shall bring Both to my friends and private family. Reignald. Oh, but how much more welcome had he been That had brought certain tidings of thy death! [_Aside_. Old Lionel. But soft, what’s this? my own gates shut upon me, And bar their master entrance! Who’s within there? How, no man speak! are all asleep or dead, That no soul stirs to open? [_Knocks loudly_. Reignald. What madman’s that who, weary of his life, Dares once lay hand on these accursèd gates? Old Lionel. Who’s that? my servant Reignald! Reignald. My old master! Most glad I am to see you; are you well, sir? Old Lionel. Thou seest I am. Reignald. But are you sure you are? Feel you no change about you? Pray you stand off. Old Lionel. What strange and unexpected greeting’s this, That thus a man may knock at his own gates, Beat with his hands and feet, and call thus loud, And no man give him entrance? Reignald. Said you, sir-- Did your hand touch that hammer? Old Lionel. Why, whose else? Reignald. But are you sure you touched it? Old Lionel. How else, I prithee, Could I have made this noise?