Clug. Still there 's some revenue?
Gui. Else Heaven forfend!
You hang a beacon out, should fogs increase;
So, when the Autumn floats of pine-wood steer
Safe 'mid the white confusion, thanks to you,
Their grateful raftsman flings a guilder in;
—That's if he mean to pass your way next time.
Clug. If not?
Gui. Hang guilders, then! he blesses you.
Clug. What man do you suppose me? Keep your paper!