SCENE IV.
Enter Cypher, like a sailor.
Cyph. Are you, sir, Warehouse the rich merchant?
Ware. Sir, my name is Warehouse.
Cyph. Then you are not, sir,
So rich by two ships as you were.
Ware. How mean you?
Cyph. Your two ships, sir, that were now coming home
From Ormus, are both cast away: the wreck
And burden on the place was valued at
Some forty thousand pound. All the men perish'd
By th' violence of the storm: only myself
Preserv'd my life by swimming, till a ship
Of Bristol took me up, and brought me home
To be the sad reporter.
Ware. Was nothing sav'd?
Cyph. Two small casks; one of blue figs, the other
Of pickled mushrooms, which serv'd me for bladders,
And kept me up from sinking. 'Twas a storm
Which, sir, I will describe to you. The winds
Rose of a sudden with that tempestuous force——
Ware. Prythee, no more, I've heard too much. Would I
Had been i' th' tempest.
Cyph. Good your worship, give
A poor seafaring man your charity
To carry me back again. I'm come above
A hundred mile to tell you this.
Ware. Go in,
And let my factor, if he be come in,
Reward thee: stay and sup, too.
Cyph. Thank your worship. [Exit Cypher.
Ware. Why should I not now hang myself? Or, if
It be a fate that will more hide itself,
And keep me from discredit, tie some weight
About my neck to sink me to the bottom
O' th' Thames, not to be found, [and so] to keep my body
From rising up and telling tales. Two wrecks,
And both worth forty thousand pound there! Why,
That landed here were worth an hundred. I
Will drown myself. I nothing have to do
Now in this world but drown myself.
Plot. Fie! these
Are desperate resolutions. Take heart, sir;
There may be ways yet to relieve you.
Ware. How?
Plot. Why, for your lost ships, say, sir, I should bring
Two o' th' Assurance Office that should warrant
Their safe return? 'Tis not known yet: would you
Give three parts to secure the fourth?
Ware. I'd give ten to secure one.
Plot. Well, sir, and for your wife,
Say I should prove it were no lawful match,
And that she is another man's—you'd take
The piece of service well?
Ware. Yes, and repent
That when I had so good an heir begot
Unto my hand, I was so rash to aim
At one of my own dotage.
Plot. Say no more, sir;
But keep the sailor, that he stir not. We'll
About it straight. [Exeunt Plotwell and Roseclap.
Ware. How much I was deceiv'd
To think ill of my nephew, in whose revenge
I see the heavens frown on me! Seas and winds
Swell and rage for him against me; but I will
Appease their furies, and be reconciled.