Young Chartley. ’Tis wool, but which of you dares say so?--[_Aside_.] I would fain pick a quarrel with them, to get some of my money again; but the slaves now they have got it, are too wise to part with it. I say it is not black. Haringfield. So say we too. Boyster. ’Tis false: his cap’s of wool; ’tis black and wool, and wool and black. Young Chartley. I have nought to say to losers. Have I nothing left to set at a cast? Ay, finger, must you be set in gold, and not a jot of silver in my purse? A bale[4.01] of fresh dice! Ho, come at this ring! Sencer. Fie, Master Chartley! ’tis time to give over. Young Chartley. That’s the winner’s phrase. Hold me play, or he that hath uncrowned me, I’ll take a speedy order with him. Boyster. Fresh dice! This jewel I will venture more: Take this and all. I’ll play in spite of luck. Haringfield. Since you will needs, trip for the dice. I see it is hard to go a winner from this company. Young Chartley. The dice are mine. This diamond I value at twenty marks:[4.02] I’ll venture it at a throw. Haringfield. ’Tis set you. Young Chartley. Then at all. All’s mine. Nay, Master Boyster, I bar you: let us work upon the winners. Gramercy, cinques! Nay, though I owe you no quarrel, yet you must give me leave to draw. Haringfield. I had rather you should draw your sword Than draw my money thus. Young Chartley. Again, sweet dice. Nay, I bar swearing: gentlemen, let’s play patiently. Well, this at the candlestick, so-- [_He throws out_. Boyster. Now, dice, at all. Todo, quoth the Spaniard. Sencer. Here’s precious luck. Boyster. Why, _via_! I think ’tis quicksilver; it goes and comes so fast: there’s life in this. Haringfield. He passes all with treys. Young Chartley. With treys, how say by that? Oh, he’s old dog at bowls and treys! Sencer. Lend me some money: be my half one cast. I’ll once out-brave this gamester with a throw. So, now the dice are mine, wilt be my half? Haringfield. I will. Sencer. Then once I’ll play the frank gamester. Let me but see how much you both can make, And I’ll cast at all, all, every cross.[4.03] Young Chartley. Now, bless us all, what will you every cross? Sencer. I will not leave myself one cross to bless me. Boyster. I set. Young Chartley. And so do I. Sencer. Why, then, at all. How! [_He flings out_. Young Chartley. Nay, swear not; let’s play patiently. Sencer. Damned dice! did ever gamester see the like? Boyster. Never, never. Sencer. Was ever known such casting? Young Chartley. Drunk nor sober, I ne’er saw a man cast worse. Sencer. I’ll prove this hat of mine an helmet. Which of you here dares say the contrary? Young Chartley. As fair an helmet as any man in Europe needs to wear. Sencer. Chartley, thy hat is black. Young Chartley. Upon better recollection, ’tis so indeed. Sencer. I say ’tis made of wool.