Raphael. Oh, frend, I feare this false and perjur'd slave, That hathe not kept apointment, hath deceiv'd mee Boathe of my coyne and pretious marchandyse.
Clowne. Did you ever looke for better from a Judas [?] of his he[yre]?[65]
Raphael. Which if hee have—
Clowne. Why then hee hathe, and the mends is in y'r owne hands: that's all that I can say too't.
Raphael. Hee hathe undone mee dubly.
Treadway. Hope the best.
Perhapps the threatninge weather kept him backe:
Itt was a trobled skye, the soon set blusheing,
The rack cam swiftly rushing from the west;
And these presadges of a future storme,
Unwillinge for to trust her tendernes
Unto such feares, might make him fayle his hower;
And yet with purpose what hee slack't last night
Howe to make goodd this morninge.
Raphael. Oh you tent[66]
My woonds too gently, dally with my dowbts
And flutter my trewe feares: the even was calme,
The skye untrobled, and the soon went downe
Without disturbance in a temperate ayr.
No, not the least conjecture coold be made
Of such a suddeine storme, of which the woorld
Till after midnight was not sensible.
His hower was supper, and in faylinge that—
Clowne. Ey, nowe begin I to feare too for thee. Breake his woord if it bee to com to dinner or supper! I'l never trust his bond for the valewe of a threepenny ordenarye after.
Raphael. Post you back to the citty; make inquiries
And most strickt search to find that Mildewe out;
Whom if you meete, fyrst rate his last neclect,
Then hasten his repayer. Heare you shall finde mee
Or in the waye home; for in all this villaige
I woll not leave a howse, a place unsearcht.
If where hee dwells you misse him, then demande
Att every bey what shippinge late went out.
If any vowed love still remane betwixt us,
Make it appear nowe in your present care
And expedition.
Treadw. I'l be your Mercury, Not fayle you in the least.