DICER. Here is a ladder.
PROD. Set it to.
[Here PRODIGALITY scaleth; FORTUNE claps a halter about his neck; he breaketh the halter, and falls.
PROD. 'Swounds! help, Dick: help quickly, or I am chok'd!
DICER. God-a-mercy, good halter, or else you had been yok'd!
PROD. O thou vile, ill-favoured, crow-trodden, pye-pecked ront!
Thou abominable, blind foul-filth,[400] is this thy wont:
First, maliciously to spoil men of their good,
And then by subtle sleights thus to seek their blood?
I abhor thee—I defy thee, wheresoever I go;
I do proclaim myself thy mortal foe.
[Enter TOM TOSS.][401]
TOM TOSS. News, Prodigality, news!
DICER. Good, and God will?
PROD. What news, Tom?