Cre. 'Snigs, and that's considerable.
Here, here, make haste with it; but, ere thou goest,
Tell me, is it a pretty thing?
Shape. O' my corporal oath,
A very pretty thing. Besides the house,
Orchards, and gardens, some two hundred acres
Of land that beareth as good country corn—
God give you luck on't!
Cre. Right, as I did say,
Ev'n word by word. But prythee, stay a little;
What meadow-ground's there? Pasture in proportion?
Shape. As you would wish, sir, I'm in haste.
Cre. Nay, bailiff,
But one word more, and I have done: what place
Is there to dry wet linen in?
Shape. O, twenty,
To hang up clothes or anything you please;
Your worship cannot want line-room. God be wi' you!
Cre. But this once, and—
Shape. I must be gone—The race! [Exit Shape.
Cre. Little think'st thee, how diligent thou art
To little purpose. 'Snigs, I pity him:
What haste he makes to cheat himself, poor fool!
Now I am safe, the wretch must pardon me
For his poor tenement; all's mine. I'll sow
One ground or other every month with pease;
And so I will have green ones all the year.
These yeomen have no policy i' th' world. [Exit.