Bun. Faith, there he mett with you.
Crac. I see a storme a coming. Uncle, I wilbe answerable upon account: my souldier must have mettall.
Sir Geff. Iron and Steele is most convenient for Souldiers; but, since you say it, Nephew, he shall have it: how much must it be?
Suc. A score of Angells shall satisfie for the confrontment you have offred me in being dilatory.
Sir Geff. Bunch, deliver him ten pounds;—but, dee heare.
Bunch, let be in light gold; 'twill serve his turn as well as heavier: it may be he is one of those projectors transports it beyond sea.
Enter Magdalen.
Mag. Sir, I come to give you notice my ladyes walkd into the garden.
Sir Geff. Life! is she upp so early?
Mag. An hower since, beleeve it.