Pis. Why, how now, son! What, have your adamants
Drawn you up so far, and there left you hanging
'Twixt heaven and earth, like Mahomet's sepulchre?
Anth. They did unkindly, whosoe'er they were,
That plagued him here, like Tantalus in hell,
To touch his lips like the desired fruit,
And then to snatch it from his gaping chaps.
Alv. A little farder, Signer Vandal, and den may put you head into de window, and cash de wensh.
Van. Ic pray, vader, dat you help de me; ic pray, goody vader.
Pis. Help you, but how?
Fris. Cut the rope.
Anth. Sir, I'll go in and see.
And if I can, I'll let him down to you. [Exit Anthony.
Pis. Do, gentle Mouche. Why, but here's a jest.
They say, high climbers have the greatest falls.
If you should fall, as how you'll do, I know not,
By'r Lady, I should doubt me of my son.
Pray to the rope to hold. Art thou there, Mouche?
Enter Anthony above.
Anth. Yes, sir. Now, you may choose whether you'll stay till I let him down, or whether I shall cut him down?