Sir Feeb. In Imagination, Sir.
Bel. How, Sir, a Devil?
Sir Feeb. Ay, or a Ghost.
Bel. Where, good Sir?
Bea. Ay, where? I’d travel a hundred Mile to see a Ghost—
Bel. Sure, Sir, ‘twas Fancy.
Sir Feeb. If ‘twere a Fancy, ‘twas a strong one; and Ghosts and Fancy are all one if they can deceive. I tell you—if ever I thought in my Life—I thought I saw a Ghost—Ay, and a damnable impudent Ghost too; he said he was a—a Fellow here—they call Bellmour.
Bel. How, Sir!
Bea. Well, I wou’d give the world to see the Devil, provided he were a civil affable Devil, such an one as Wasteall’s Acquaintance is—
Sir Cau. He can show him too soon, it may be. I’m sure as civil as he is, he helps him to steal my Gold, I doubt—and to be sure—Gentlemen, you say he’s a Gamester—I desire when he comes anon, that you wou’d propose to sport a Dye, or so—and we’ll fall to play for a Teaster, or the like—and if he sets any money, I shall go near to know my own Gold, by some remarkable Pieces amongst it; and if he have it, I’ll hang him, and then all his six hundred a Year will be my own, which I have in Mortgage.