Enter Old Bloodhound, the Widow, her Maid, and Man.[5]
Blood. Look, look, up[6] and ready; all is ready, widow. He is in some deep discourse with Sim, concerning moneys out to one or another.
Wid. Has he said his prayers, sir?
Blood. Prayer before providence! When did ye know any thrive and swell that uses it? He's a chip o' th' old block; I exercise him in the trade of thrift, by turning him to all the petty pawns. If they come to me, I tell them I have given over brokering, moiling for muck and trash, and that I mean to live a life monastic, a praying life: pull out the tale of Crœsus from my pocket, and swear 'tis called "Charity's Looking-Glass, or an exhortation to forsake the world."
Maid. Dainty hypocrite! [Aside.
Wid. Peace!
Blood. But let a fine fool that's well-feathered come, and withal good meat, I have a friend, it may be, that may compassionate his wants. I'll tell you an old saw[7] for't over my chimney yonder—
A poor man seem to him that's poor,
And prays thee for to lend;
But tell the prodigal (not quite spent)
Thou wilt procure a friend.
Wid. Trust me, a thrifty saw.
Blood. Many will have virtuous admonitions on their walls, but not a piece in their coffers: give me these witty politic saws; and indeed my house is furnished with no other.