[Exit Stephen and Robert.
Wife. Will the tide never turn? Was ever woman
Thus burden'd with unhappy happiness?
Did I from riot take him to waste my goods,
And he strives to augment it? I did mistake him.
Doc. Spoil not a good text with a false comment;
All these are blessings, and from heaven sent;
It is your husband's good; he's now transform'd
To a better shade; the prodigal's return'd.
Come, come, know joy, make not abundance scant;
You 'plain of that which thousand women want. [Exeunt.
Enter Brewen and Old Foster; George and Richard follow them, carrying several bags of money across the stage.
Brew. So, so,
Haste home, good lads, and return for the rest.
Would they were cover'd, George; 'tis too public
Blazon of my estate; but 'tis no matter now;
I'll bring it abroad again, ere it be long.
Sir, I acknowledge receipt of my full half debt,
Twelve thousand five hundred pounds; it now remains
You seal those writings as assurance for the rest,
And I am satisfied for this time.
O. Fos. Pray stay, sir, I have bethought me: let me once
Throw dice at all, and either be a complete
Merchant, or wrack my estate for ever:
Hear me, sir; I have of wares, that are now vendible,
So much as will defray your utmost penny;
Will you accept of them, and save this charge
Of wax and parchment?
Brew. Be they vendible, sir, I am your chapman:
What are they, Master Foster?
O. Fos. Broadcloths, kerseys, cochineal, such as will not stay two days upon your hands.
Brew. I find your purpose; you'd have your warehouses empty for the receipt of your full fraught: I'll be your furtherer; make so your rates that I may be no loser.