_Ven._ 'Tis food to some, my lord. There are old men at the present, that are so poisoned with the affectation of law-words (having had many suits canvassed), that their common talk is nothing but Barbary Latin. They cannot so much as pray but in law, that their sins may be removed with a writ of error, and their souls fetched up to Heaven with a sasarara.[223] _Lus._ It seems most strange to me; Yet all the world meets round in the same bent: Where the heart's set, there goes the tongue's consent. How dost apply thy studies, fellow? _Ven._ Study? why, to think how a great rich man lies a-dying, and a poor cobbler tolls the bell for him. How he cannot depart the world, and see the great chest stand before him; when he lies speechless, how he will point you readily to all the boxes; and when he is past all memory, as the gossips guess, then thinks he of forfeitures and obligations; nay, when to all men's hearings he whurls and rattles in the throat, he's busy threatening his poor tenants. And this would last me now some seven years' thinking, or thereabouts. But I have a conceit a-coming in picture upon this; I draw it myself, which, i' faith, la, I'll present to your honour; you shall not choose but like it, for your honour shall give me nothing for it. _Lus._ Nay, you mistake me, then, For I am published bountiful enough. Let's taste of your conceit. _Ven._ In picture, my Lord? _Lus._ Ay, in picture. _Ven._ Marry, this it is--"A usuring father to be boiling in hell, and his son and heir with a whore dancing over him." _Hip._ He has pared him to the quick. [_Aside._ _Lus._ The conceit's pretty, i' faith; But, take't upon my life, 'twill ne'er be liked. _Ven._ No? why I'm sure the whore will be liked well enough. _Hip._ Aye, if she were out o' the picture, he'd like her then himself. [_Aside._ _Ven._ And as for the son and heir, he shall be an eyesore to no young revellers, for he shall be drawn in cloth-of-gold breeches. _Lus._ And thou hast put my meaning in the pockets, And canst not draw that out? My thought was this: To see the picture of a usuring father Boiling in hell--our rich men would never like it. _Ven._ O, true, I cry you heartily mercy, I know the reason, for some of them had rather Be damned in deed than damned in colours. _Lus._ A parlous melancholy! he has wit enough To murder any man, and I'll give him means. [_Aside._ I think thou art ill-moneyed? _Ven._ Money! ho, ho! 'T has been my want so long, 'tis now my scoff: I've e'en forgot what colour silver's of. _Lus._ It hits as I could wish. [_Aside._ _Ven._ I get good clothes Of those that dread my humour; and for table-room I feed on those that cannot be rid of me. _Lus._ Somewhat to set thee up withal. [_Gives him money._ _Ven._ O mine eyes! _Lus._ How now, man?