Jac. Challenge a half pint pot.
Jou. There in a sawpitt, knave, to quitt my self Of such an inury.—Hee writes mee here That I should pay to you tenn thousand crownes.
Ga. As being due to him.
Jou. But thatts not my quarrell, sir; for I did owe to him
Millions of Crownes, millions of my love;—
And but to send a note here for his owne!
Ist not a quarrell for an honest man?
Jac. With very few, I thinke.
Jou. Why, looke yee, sir:
When after many a storme and dreadfull blow
Strooke from fire-belching clouds, bankrupt of life
I have home return'd; when all my frends denide
Their thresholds to mee, and my creditors
Desir'd to sinke mee in a prisoners grave,
Hee gave mee dying life, his helpefull hand
Sent mee to sea and kept mee safe on land.
Ist not a quarrell then to seeke butts owne?
Ga. Oh, pray, sir—
Jou. When all the talents of oppression
Of usurers, lawyers and my creditors
Had fangd upon my wife and family,
Hee gave mee dying life, his helpfull hand
Sent mee to sea and kept mee safe on land.
Ist not a quarrell then to seeke but's owne?
Ga. Good sir—
Jou. Come in, sir, where I will pay all that you can demand:
Noe other quarrell, sir, shall passe your hand.