Rho. Do, do.
Bar. Do, the Devil
And the grand Pox do with ye.
Lop. Do ye hear him? well—
Enter Penurio and Isabella.
Now, what's the news with you?
Pen. The sound of War, Sir,
Comes still along: The Duke will charge the City,
We have lost they say.
Lop. What shall become of me then,
And my poor wealth?
Bar. Even hang'd, I hope.
Rho. Remove your Jewels presently,
And what you have of wealth into the Cittadel,
There all's secure.
Lop. I humbly thank ye Lady:
Penurio, get me some can climb the Chimney,
For there my Jewels are, my best, my richest,
I hid 'em, fearing such a blow.