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Determines the indenture tripartite,
[Some knock. Sub. You are a precious fiend ! “Ofi. Open the door.” Face. Dol, I am sorry for thee i' faith. But, hear'st
thou? It shall go hard, but I will place thee somewhere : Thou shalt ha' my letter to mistress Amo.
Dol. Hang you-
Dol. Pox upon you, rogue :
[Exit Dol. Face. Subtle,
480 Let's know where you set up next: I'll send you A customer, now and then, for old acquaintance : What new course ha' you?
Sub. Rogue, I'll hang myself, That I
may walk a greater devil thân thou, And haunt thee i'the flock-bed, and the buttery. [Exit.
A Street before Lovewit's House. Lovewit above.
Enter Officers, MAMMON, SURLY, FACE, KAS-
Mam. Open your door,
Offr. Or we'll break it open.
Love. Have but patience,
Face. Sir h' you done?
Love. Yes, my brain.
501 Sur. Down with the door. Kas. 'Slight, ding it open.
Mam. Where is this collier ?
Mam. Madam Suppository?
Offi. Keep the peace.
you seek :
Mam. The chymical cožener.
Offi. One after another, gentlemen, I charge you. By virtue of iny staff.
Ana. They are the vessels Of pride, lust, and the cart.
Love. Good zeal, lie still A little while.
Tri. Peace, deacon Ananias.
Love. The house is mine here, and the doors are open: If there be any such persons you seek for, Use your authority ; I am but newly come to town, and finding This tumult 'bout my door (tò tell you true) It somewhat ʼmaz’d me; till my man here, fearing My more displeasure, told me he had done
Somewhat an insolent part, let out my house
540 Mam. Are they gone?
[They enter. Love. You may go
and search, sir. Here, I find The empty walls worse than I left them, smok’d, A few crack'd pots and glasses, and a furnace; The cieling fill’d with poesies of the candle: Only one gentlewoman, I met here, That is within, that said she was a widowKas. Ay, that's my suster, I'll go thump her. Where is she?
[Exit. Love. And should ha’married a Spanish count, but he, When he came to't, neglected her so grossly, That I, a widower, am gone through with her.
Sur. Hw! have I lost her then ?
Love. Were you the don, sir? Good faith, now, she does blame yo’extremely, and says You swore, and told her, you had ta'en the pains “ To dye your beard, and umbre o'er your face,” Borrowed a suit and ruff all for her love, And then did nothing. What an oversight, And want of putting forward, sir, was this ! Well fare an old harquebuzier, yet, Could prime his powder, and give fire, and hit, All in a twinkling,
Mam. A kind of choughs,
Love. Think you so, sir?
Love. Sir, I can take no knowledge,
formal writ out of a court, That you did cozen yourself, I will not hold them. Mam. I'll rather lose them.
580 Love. That you shall not, sir, By me, in troth. Upon these terms they are yours. What should they ha' 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
Sur. Must I needs cheat myself,