Cand. Look you, gentlemen, there’s your ware, I thank you, I have your money here; pray know my shop, pray let me have your custom.
Vio. Custom quoth’a.
Cand. Let me take more of your money.
Vio. You had need so.
Pio. Hark in thine ear, thou’st lost an hundred ducats.
Cas. Well, well, I know’t: is’t possible that homo
Should be nor man, nor woman: not once moved;
No not at such an injury, not at all!
Sure he’s a pigeon, for he has no gall.
Flu. Come, come, you’re angry though you smother it:
You’re vexed i’faith; confess.
Cand. Why, gentlemen,
Should you conceit me to be vexed or moved?
He has my ware, I have his money for’t,
And that’s no argument I’m angry: no:
The best logician cannot prove me so.
Flu. Oh, but the hateful name of a penn’orth of lawn,
And then cut out i’th middle of the piece:
Pah, I guess it by myself, ’twould move a lamb
Were he a linen-draper, ’twould, i’faith.