CARIO. 'Tis the same with the lads; they care not for love, to them money means everything.
CHREMYLUS. You speak of those who accept all comers; yet some of them are honest, and 'tis not money they ask of their patrons.
CARIO. What then?
CHREMYLUS. A fine horse, a pack of hounds.
CARIO. Aye, they would blush to ask for money and cleverly disguise their shame.
CHREMYLUS. 'Tis in you that every art, all human inventions, have had their origin; 'tis through you that one man sits cutting leather in his shop.
CARIO. That another fashions iron or wood.
CHREMYLUS. That yet another chases the gold he has received from you.
CARIO. That one is a fuller.
CHREMYLUS. That t'other washes wool.