Night. Alack then for pity must I bear the curse,
That only belongs to the cunning cut-purse?
Cokes. But where’s their cunning now, when they should use it? they are all chain’d now, I warrant you. [Sings.] Youth, youth, thou had’st better—The rat-catchers’ charms are all fools and asses to this: a pox on them, that they will not come! that a man should have such a desire to a thing, and want it!
Quar. ’Fore God I’d give half the Fair, an ’twere mine, for a cut-purse for him, to save his longing.
Cokes. Look you, sister [shews his purse again], here, here, where is’t now? which pocket is’t in, for a wager?
Waspe. I beseech you leave your wagers, and let him end his matter, an’t may be.
Cokes. O, are you edified, Numps!
Over. Indeed he does interrupt him too much: there Numps spoke to purpose. [Aside.
Cokes. Sister, I am an ass, I cannot keep my purse! [Shews it again, and puts it up.]—On, on, I pray thee, friend.
Night. Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starv’d by thy nurse,