 | The citye match |  |
Scena. IV.
To them Cypher.Cyph.
Are you, Sir, Ware-house, the rich Merchant?
war.
Sir,
My name is Ware-house.
Cy.
Then you are not, Sir,
So rich by two ships as you were.
VVar.
How meane you?
Cyph.
Your two ships, Sir, that were now comming home
From Ormus are both cast away; the wrack
And burden on the place was valewd at
Some forty thousand pound. All the men perisht,
By th'violence of the storme, only my selfe
Preserv'd my life by swimming, till a ship
Of Bristoll took me up, and brought me home
To be the sad reporter.
VVar.
Was nothing sav'd?
Cyph.
Two small Caskes; one of blew Figs, the other
Of pickeld Mushromes; which serv'd me for bladders,
And kept me up from sinking. Twas a storme
56
Rose of a sudden with that tempestuous force—
VVar.
Prithee no more; I have heard too much. Would I
Had been ith' tempest.
Cyph.
Good your worship give
A poore sea-faring man your charitie,
To carry me back againe. I'me come aboue
A hundred mile to tell you this.
VVar.
Goe in,
And let my Factor if he be come in,
Reward thee, stay and sup to.
Cyph.
Thank your Worship
VVar.
Why should I not now hang my selfe? Or if
Ex. Cyp.
It be a fate that will more hide it selfe,
And keep me from discredit, tie some weight
About my neck, to sink me to the bottome
Oth' Thames, not to be found, to keep my body,
From rising up and telling tales. Two wracks?
And both worth forty thousand pound there? why
That landed here, were worth an hundred. J
Will drown my selfe; I nothing have to doe
Now in this world but drown my selfe.
Plotw.
Fie these
Are desperate resolutions. Take heart, Sir,
There may be waies yet to relieve your.
VVar.
How?
Plotw.
Why for your lost ships, say, Sir, I should bring
Two oth' Assurance Office that should warrant
Their safe returne, tis not knowne yet. Would you
Give three parts to secure the fourth?
War.
I'de give
Ten to secure one.
Plotw.
Well, Sir, and for your Wife,
Say J should prove it were no lawfull match;
And that she is another Mans? you'd take
the peece of service well.
War.
Yes, and repent
That when I had so good an Heyre begot
Unto my hand, I was so rash to aime
At one of my own dotage.
Plot.
Say no more, Sir,
But keep the Saylor that he stir not. Wee'l
Exit Plotwell & Roscl.
About it straight.
War.
How much I was deceiv'd
To think ill of my Nephew. In whose revenge
I see the Heavens frowne on me; Seas and Winds
Swell and rage for him against me. But J will
Appease their furies, and be reconciled.
| The citye match | |