Pis. What, Master Brown! the only man I wish'd for.
Does your price fall? what, shall I have these cloths?
For I would ship them straight away[496] for Stoade.
I do wish you my money 'fore another.
Brown. Faith, you know my price, sir, if you have them.
Pis. You are too dear in sadness. Master Heigham,
You were about to say somewhat—pray, proceed.
Heigh. Then this it was: those lands that are not mortgag'd—
Enter Post.
Post. God bless your worship.
Pis. I must crave pardon.—O sirrah, are you come?
Wal. Heyday, heyday! What is the matter now?
Sure, yonder fellow will be torn in pieces.
Har. What's he, sweet youths, that so they flock about?
What, old Pisaro tainted with this madness?