Har. Pr'ythee do not torture us, but tell it.
Van Her. Whence comes this news?
Fisc. From England.
Har. Is their East India fleet bound outward for these parts, or cast away, or met at sea by pirates?
Fisc. Better, much better yet; ha, ha, ha!
Har. Now am I famished for my part of the laughter.
Fisc. Then, my brave governor, if you're a true Dutchman, I'll make your fat sides heave with the conceit on't, 'till you're blown like a pair of large smith's bellows; here, look upon this paper.
Har. [reading.] You may remember we did endamage the English East-India Company the value of five hundred thousand pounds, all in one year; a treaty is now signed, in which the business is ta'en up for fourscore thousand.—This is news indeed: would I were upon the castle-wall, that I might throw my cap into the sea, and my gold chain after it! this is golden news, boys.
Van Her. This is news would kindle a thousand bonfires, and make us piss them out again in Rhenish wine.
Har. Send presently to all our factories, acquaint them with these blessed tidings: If we can 'scape so cheap, 'twill be no matter what villanies henceforth we put in practice.