Vict. You for his soule must answer.
King. Fetch another.
Eugen. Tempt not the wrath supernall to fall downe And crush thee in thy throne.
Enter 2 Cammell drivers.
King. Peace, sorcerous slave: Sirra, take hence this Witch and ravish her.
2 Cam. A Witch? Witches are the Divels sweete hearts.
King. Doe it, be thou Master of much gold.
2 Cam. Shall I have gold to doe it? in some Countries I heare whole Lordships are spent upon a fleshly device, yet the buyer in the end had nothing but French Repentance and the curse of Chyrurgery for his money. Let me finger my gold; Ile venture on, but not give her a penny. Womans flesh was never cheaper; a man may eate it without bread; all Trades fall, so doe they.
Epi. Look you, Sir, there's your gold.
2 Cam. Ile tell money after my father. Oh I am strucke blinde!