Grac. Hum! the fools are modest;
I know their insides: here's an ill-faced fellow,
(But that will not be seen in a dark shop;)
If he did not in a month learn to outswear,
In the selling of his wares, the cunning'st tradesman
In Syracuse, I have no skill. Here's another;
Observe but what a cozening look he has!—
Hold up thy head, man! If, for drawing gallants
Into mortgages for commodities[114], cheating heirs
With your new counterfeit gold thread, and gumm'd velvets,
He does not transcend all that went before him,
Call in his patent.
Mar. Is 't not pity, then,
Men of such eminent virtues should be slaves?
Cimb. Our fortune.
Mar. 'Tis your folly: daring men
Command and make their fates. Say, at this instant,
I mark'd you out a way to liberty;
Possess'd you of those blessings our proud lords
So long have surfeited in; and, what is sweetest,
Arm you with power, by strong hand to revenge
Your stripes, your unregarded toil, the pride,
The insolence, of such as tread upon
Your patient sufferings; fill your famish'd mouths
With the fat and plenty of the land; redeem you
From the dark vale of servitude, and seat you
Upon a hill of happiness; what would you do
To purchase this, and more?
Grac. Do! any thing:
To burn a church or two, and dance by the light on 't,
Were but a May-game.
Poliph. I have a father living;
But if the cutting of his throat could work this,
He should excuse me.
Cimb. 'Slight! I would cut mine own,
Rather than miss it; so I might but have
A taste on 't ere I die.
Mar. Be resolute men;
You shall run no such hazard, nor groan under
The burden of such crying sins.
Poliph. Do not torment us
With expectation.
Mar. Thus, then:—Our proud masters,
And all the able freemen of the city,
Are gone unto the wars——