It will do well; let 'em but send their monys,
Come from what quarter of the world, I care not,
I'le know 'em instantly; nay I'le be kin to 'em;
I cannot miss a man, that sends me mony:
Let him law there, long as his Duckets last, Boy,
I'le grace him, and prefer him.
Die.
I'le turn Trade, Master, and now live by the living,
Let the dead stink, 'tis a poor stinking Trade.
Lop.