Lur. My dainty Boy, let us discharge, that plate
Makes a perpetual motion in my fingers,
Till I have fast hold of it.
Boy. Pray be wise Sir, do't handsomly, be not greedy,
Lets handle it with such an excellence
As if we would bring thieving into honor:
We must disguise, to fright these reverend wat[ch]es.
Lur. Still my blest Boy.
Boy. And clear the room of drunken jealousies,
The chest is of some weight, and we may make
Such noise [ith] carriage we may be snap'd.
Lur. Come open, here's a devils face.
Boy. No, no, Sir, wee'l have no shape so terrible,
We will not do the devil so much pleasure,
To have him face our plot.
Lur. A winding sheet then.
Boy. That's too cold a shift,
I would not wear the reward of my wickedness,
I wonder you are an old thief, and no cunninger,
Where's the long Cloak?
Lur. Here, here.
Boy. Give me the Turbant
And the false beard, I hear some coming this way,
Stoop, stoop, and let me sit upon your shoulders,
And now as I direct, stay, let them enter,
And when I touch move forward, make no noise.