Mer. ’Tis a toy, a trifle!
Fit. Trifle! 12. thouſand pound for dogs-skins?
Mer. Yes, But, by my way of dreſſing, you muſt know, Sir, And med’cining the leather, to a height 70 Of improu’d ware, like your Borachio Of Spaine, Sir. I can fetch nine thouſand for’t—
Ing. Of the Kings glouer?
Mer. Yes, how heard you that?
Ing. Sir, I doe know you can.
Mer. Within this houre: And reſerue halfe my ſecret. Pluck another; 75 See if thou haſt a happier hand: I thought ſo. Hee pluckes out the 2. Bottle-ale. The very next worſe to it! Bottle-ale. Yet, this is two and twenty thouſand! Pr’y thee Pull out another, two or three.
Fit. Good, ſtay, friend, By bottle-ale, two and twenty thouſand pound? 80
Mer. Yes, Sir, it’s caſt to penny-hal’penny-farthing, O’ the back-ſide, there you may ſee it, read, I will not bate a Harrington o’ the ſumme. I’ll winne it i’ my water, and my malt, My furnaces, and hanging o’ my coppers, 85 The tonning, and the ſubtilty o’ my yeſt; And, then the earth of my bottles, which I dig, Turne vp, and ſteepe, and worke, and neale, my ſelfe, To a degree of Porc’lane. You will wonder, At my proportions, what I will put vp 90 In ſeuen yeeres! for ſo long time, I aske For my inuention. I will ſaue in cork, In my mere ſtop’ling, ’boue three thouſand pound, Within that terme: by googing of ’hem out Iuſt to the ſize of my bottles, and not ſlicing, 95 There’s infinite loſſe i’ that. What haſt thou there? O’ making wine of raiſins: this is in hand, now, Hee drawes out another. Raiſines.
Ing. Is not that ſtrange, Sr, to make wine of raiſins?