Brew. 'Tis no more yet; but then our fraught is full,
When she returns laden with merchandise,
And safe deliver'd with our customage.
O. Fos. Such a delivery heaven send us;
But time must ripen it. Are our accounts made even?
George. To the quantity of a penny, if his agree with mine. What's yours, Richard?
Rich. Five hundred sixty pounds. Read the gross sum of your broadcloths.
George. 68 pieces at B, ss, and l; 57 at l, ss, and o.[35]
Rich. Just: lead nineteen ton.
O. Fos. As evenly we will lay our bosoms
As our bottoms, with love as merchandise,
And may they both increase t' infinities.
Brew. Especially at home; that golden traffic, love,
Is scantier far than gold; and one mine of that
More worth than twenty argosies[36]
Of the world's richest treasure.
O. Fos. Here you shall dig [Laying his hand on his breast], and find your lading.
Brew. Here's your exchange: and, as in love,
So we'll participate in merchandise.