Longa. Art thou not one of Fortunatus’ sons?
Amp. I am, but he did never do you wrong.
Longa. The devil thy brother has; villain, look here.
Montr. Where is the beauteous purse and wishing hat?
Amp. My brother Andelocia has the purse,
This way he’ll come anon to pass to court.
Alas, that sin should make men’s hearts so bold,
To kill their souls for the base thirst of gold.
The wishing hat is burnt.
Montr. Burnt? Soldiers, bind him.
Tortures shall wring both hat and purse from you.
Villain, I’ll be revenged for that base scorn
Thy hell-hound brother clapped upon my head.
Longa. And so will Longaville.
Away with him!
Montr. Drag him to yonder tower, there shackle him,
And in a pair of stocks lock up his heels,
And bid your wishing cap deliver you.
Give us the purse and hat, we’ll set thee free,
Else rot to death and starve.
Amp. Oh tyranny, you need not scorn the badge which you did bear:
Beasts would you be, though horns you did not wear.
Montr. Drag hence the cur: come, noble Longaville,
One’s sure, and were the other fiend as fast,
Their pride should cost their lives: their purse and hat
Shall both be ours, we’ll share them equally.