Qua. In the name of prosperity, what tide of happiness so suddenly flow’d upon thee?
Sim. I’ll keep a horse and four boys, with grace of fortune now.
Qua. Now, then, i’faith, get up and ride. 19
Sim. And I do not, I’ll thwack[541] a jerkin till he groan again with gold lace. Let me see; what should I desire of God? Marry, a cloak, lined with rich taffeta; white satin suit; and my gilt rapier from pawn: nay, she shall give me a chain of pearl, that shall pay for all. Good-bye, good signior; good-bye, good signior.
Qua. Why, now, thou speaketh in the most embraced fashion that our time hugs; no sooner a good fortune or a fresh suit falls upon a fellow that would ha’ been gull’d to ha’ shoved into your society, but, and he me[e]t you, he fronts you with a faint eye, throws a squint glance over a wried shoulder, and cries ’twixt the teeth, as very parsimonious of breath, “Good-bye, good signior; good-bye, good signior.” Death, I will search the lifeblood of your hopes. 34
Sim. And a fresh pearl-colour silk stocking—— O
ay, ay, ay, ay, I’ll go to the half-crown ordinary[542] every meal; I’ll have my ivory box of tobacco; I’ll converse with none but counts and courtiers. Now,—good-bye, good signior,—a pair of massy silver spurs, too, a hatch[543] short sword, and then your embroider’d hanger;[544] and, good signior—— 41
Qua. Shut the windows, darken the room, fetch whips; the fellow is mad: he raves, he raves,—talks idly,—lunatic: who procures thy——
Sim. One that has ate fat capon, suck’d the boil’d chicken, and let out his wit with the fool of bounty, one Fabius. I’ll scorn him; he goes upon Fridays in black satin. 48
Qua. Fabius! By this light, a cogging cheator:[545] he lives on love of merchants’ wives; he stands on the base of mains;[546] he furnisheth your ordinary, for which he feeds scot-free; keeps fair gold in his purse, to put on upon mains, by which he lives, and keeps a fair boy at his heels: he is damn’d Fabius.