Val. Hang friends, and even reckonings that make friends.
Unc. I thought till now, there had been no such living, no such purchase, for all the rest is labour, as a list of honourable friends; do such men as you, Sir, in lieu of all your understandings, travels, and those great gifts of nature, aim at no more than casting off your Coats? I am strangely cozen'd.
Lance. Should not the Town shake at the cold you feel now, and all the Gentry suffer interdiction, no more sense spoken, all things Goth and Vandal, till you be summed again, Velvets and Scarlets, anointed with gold Lace, and Cloth of silver turned into Spanish Cottens for a penance, wits blasted with your Bulls and Taverns withered, as though the Term lay at St. Albans?
Val. Gentlemen, you have spoken long and level, I beseech you take breath a while and hear me; you imagine now, by the twirling of your strings, that I am at the last, as also that my friends are flown like Swallows after Summer.
Unc. Yes, Sir.
Val. And that I have no more in this poor Pannier, to raise me up again above your rents, Uncle.
Unc. All this I do believe.
Val. You have no mind to better me.
Unc. Yes, Cousin, and to that end I come, and once more offer you all that my power is master of.
Val. A match then, lay me down fifty pounds there.