Scene IX.—In the Public Garden.
Di. Twenty-one past—twenty-five coming on;
One-third of life departed, nothing done.
Out of the mammon of unrighteousness
That we make friends, the Scripture is express.
My Spirit, come, we will agree;
Content, you’ll take a moiety.
Sp. A moiety, ye gods, he, he!
Di. Three-quarters then? O griping beast;
Leave me a decimal at least.