Bell. The Lord Hippolito?
Orl. Yes, if he be a lord, he gave it me.
Bell. ’Tis all gold.
Orl. ’Tis like so: it may be, he thinks you want money, and therefore bestows his alms bravely, like a lord.
Bell. He thinks a silver net can catch the poor;
Here’s bait to choke a nun, and turn her whore.
Wilt thou be honest to me?
Orl. As your nails to your fingers, which I think never deceived you.
Bell. Thou to this lord shalt go, commend me to him,
And tell him this, the town has held out long,
Because within ’twas rather true than strong.
To sell it now were base; Say ’tis no hold
Built of weak stuff, to be blown up with gold.
He shall believe thee by this token, or this;
If not, by this. [Giving purse, ring and letters.
Orl. Is this all?
Bell. This is all.