Merc. He sells justice as he uses; fleeces the rich rebels, and hangs up the poor.
Phæd. Then, while he has money, he may make love to me. Has he sent me no token?
Merc. Yes, a kiss; and by the same token I am to give it you, as a remembrance from him.
Phæd. How now, impudence! A beggarly serving-man presume to kiss me?
Merc. Suppose I were a god, and should make love to you?
Phæd. I would first be satisfied, whether you were a poor god, or a rich god.
Merc. Suppose I were Mercury, the god of merchandise?
Phæd. What! the god of small wares, and fripperies, of pedlers and pilferers?
Merc. How the gipsy despises me! [Aside.
Phæd. I had rather you were Plutus, the god of money; or Jupiter, in a golden shower: there was a god for us women! he had the art of making love. Dost thou think that kings, or gods either, get mistresses by their good faces? no, it is the gold, and the presents they can make; there is the prerogative they have over their fair subjects.