Cand. Well, give me leave to answer you for that:
We are set here to please all customers,
Their humours and their fancies;—offend none:
We get by many, if we lose by one.
May be his mind stood to no more than that,
A penn’orth serves him, and ’mongst trades ’tis found,
Deny a penn’orth, it may cross a pound.
Oh, he that means to thrive, with patient eye
Must please the devil if he come to buy!
Flu. O wondrous man, patient ’bove wrong or woe,
How blessed were men, if women could be so!
Cand. And to express how well my breast is pleased,
And satisfied in all:—George fill a beaker. [Exit George.
I’ll drink unto that gentleman, who lately
Bestowed his money with me.
Vio. God’s my life,
We shall have all our gains drunk out in beakers,
To make amends for pennyworths of lawn!
Re-enter George with beaker.
Cand. Here wife, begin you to the gentleman.
Vio. I begin to him! [Spills the wine.
Cand. George, fill’t up again:
’Twas my fault, my hand shook. [Exit George.
Pio. How strangely this doth show!
A patient man linked with a waspish shrew.
Flu. A silver and gilt beaker: I’ve a trick
To work upon that beaker, sure ’twill fret him;
It cannot choose but vex him. [Aside.] Signor Castruchio,
In pity to thee I have a conceit,
Will save thy hundred ducats yet; ’twill do’t,
And work him to impatience.