Hold, Conscience; though thy brooms be not worth a quarter so much,
Yet to give thee a piece of gold I do it not grutch;
And if thou wouldst follow my mind, thou shouldst not live in such sort,
But pass thy days with pleasure, store of every kind of sport.
CONSCIENCE.
I think you lead the world in a string, for everybody follows you:
And sith every one doth it, why may not I do it too?
For that I see your free heart and great liberality,
I marvel not that all people are so willing to follow ye.
LUCRE.
Then, sweet soul, mark what I would have thee do for me.
That is, to deck up thy poor cottage handsomely;
And for that purpose I have five thousand crowns in store,
And when it is spent, thou shalt have twice as much more.
But only see thy rooms be neat, when I shall thither resort,
With familiar friends to play, and[213] pass the time in sport;
For the deputy, constable and spiteful neighbours do spy, pry,
and eye about my house,
That I dare not be once merry within, but still mute like a mouse.
CONSCIENCE.
My good Lady Lucre, I will fulfil your mind in every kind of thing,
So that you shall be welcome at all hours, whomsoever you do bring:
And all the dogs in the town shall not bark at your doings, I trow;
For your full pretence and intent I do throughly know,
Even so well as if you had opened the very secrets of your heart,
For which I doubt not but to rest in your favour by my desert.
But here comes your man, Usury.
Enter USURY.
LUCRE.
I'll send him home for the money—Usury, step in,
And bring me the box of all abhomination, that stands in the window:
It is little and round, painted with divers colours, and is pretty
to the show.
USURY.
Madam, is there any superscription thereon?
LUCRE.
Have I not told you the name? for shame; get you gone.
[Exit USURY.]
Well, my wench, I doubt not but our pleasures shall excel,
Seeing thou hast got a corner fit, where few neighbours dwell,
And they be of the poorest sort, which fits our turn so right,
Because they dare not speak against our sports and sweet delight:
And if they should, alas! their words would nought at all be weigh'd,
And for to speak before my face they will be all afraid.