Tob. Sweet devil be good to me. [Exeunt.
Enter Lurch, and Boy.
Lur. Where's my love, Boy.
Boy. She's coming with a Candle
To see our happy prize.
Lur. I am cruel weary.
Boy. I cannot blame ye, plate is very heavy
To carry without light or help.
Lur. The fear too
At every stumble to be discover'd boy,
At every cough to raise a Constable,
Well, we'll be merry now.
Boy. We have some reason;
Things compass'd without fear or eminent danger,
Are too luxurious sir to live upon.
Money and wealth got thus are as full venture,
And carry in their nature as much merit
As his, that digs 'em out 'oth' mine, they last too
Season'd with doubts and dangers most delitiously,
Riches that fall upon us are too ripe,
And dull our appetites.
Lu. Most learned child.
Enter Mistriss.