Ger. Cease your wonder,
You shall not sink, for ne'r a sowst Flap-dragon,
For ne'r a pickl'd Pilcher of 'em all, Sir,
'Tis there, your full sum, a hundred thousand crowns:
And good sweet Master, now be merry; pay 'em,
Pay the poor pelting Knaves, that know no goodness:
And chear your heart up handsomely.
Gos. Good Clause, How cam'st thou by this mighty Sum? if naughtily, I must not take it of thee, 'twill undo me.
Ger. Fear not, you have it by as honest means
As though your father gave it: Sir, you know not
To what a mass, the little we get daily,
Mounts in seven years; we beg it for Heavens charity,
And to the same good we are bound to render it.
Gos. What great security?
Ger. Away with that, Sir, Were not ye more than all the men in Bruges; And all the money in my thoughts—
Gos. But good Clause, I may dye presently.
Ger. Then this dies with ye:
Pay when you can good Master, I'll no Parchments,
Only this charity I shall entreat you;
Leave me this Ring.
Gos. Alas, it is too poor, Clause.
Ger. 'Tis all I ask, and this withal, that when I shall deliver this back, you shall grant me Freely one poor petition.
Gos. There, I confirm it, [Gives the Ring. And may my faith forsake me when I shun it.