University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Sir John Traffic's Counting-House.
Enter Invoice and Ledger.
Ledger.
The ship is safe i'th' pool then?

Invoice.
And makes good
In her rich freight the name she bears, the Speedwell.
Our master, Sir John Traffic, never made
A braver speculation. On my knowledge,
Who sailing in her can pronounce her value,
For ev'ry hundred that he ventur'd in her,
She hath return'd him five.

Ledger.
Would it were mine,
Or but a tythe on't!—Well, our master needs
Supplies like this; his out-goings are great.

Invoice.
Why, truly, things seem chang'd. This gorgeous mansion,
The hangings and the furniture o' th' chambers,
Rather bespeak the state of some great lord,
Than of a London merchant. Where's our lady?
How sits her title on her? and her daughters,
Fair Moll, and blooming Bess?

Ledger.
Plain Moll and Bess?
An' thou would'st 'scape correction, thou had'st best
Give them some other titles.—Miss Maria,
And Miss Eliza, and with reverence too,
Or 'tis more punishable in our house
Than scandalum magnatum.

Invoice.
'Tis great pity,
That such a gentleman as our good master,
Whose boundless wealth can so maintain a title,
Should want a son to inherit his estate,
And keep his name alive.

Ledger.
The want of one
Swells my young mistresses and their proud stepmother
With hopes above their birth and scale: their dreams are
Of being made countesses, and they take state
As they were such already. When you went
To th' Indies, there was some proportion
Becoming traders in our house; but since
My master was by royal favour knighted,
'Tis grown a little court in bravery.

Invoice.
Is Luke, his brother, living?

Ledger.
Yes, the more
His misery, poor man!

Invoice.
And still in prison?

Ledger.
In a worse place, for he's translated hither.

Invoice.
How's that?

Ledger.
Why, Sir, since here, as says the proverb,
Our mare's the better horse, poor master Luke
Hath made an ill exchange. He's freed indeed,
But our proud madam takes especial care
He still shall feel dependence. She admits him,
As 'tis our master's pleasure, to the table,
Where, after grace is said, with humble rev'rence
He takes the lowest place, and sits the subject
Of her contempt and scorn; and, dinner ended,
She finds employment for him, suited better
To a mere lackey.

Invoice.
Strange, he should endure it,
When other means of living may be found.
But hold.—How wears the time?

Ledger.
'Tis almost noon.

Invoice.
Then must we hasten to th' Exchange.

Ledger.
I'm with you.

[Exeunt.