Lus. And thou hast put my meaning in the pockets,
And canst not draw that out? My thought was this:
To see the picture of a usuring father
Boiling in hell—our rich men would never like it.

Ven. O, true, I cry you heartily mercy.
I know the reason, for some of them had rather
Be damned in deed than damned in colours.

Lus. A parlous melancholy! h' has wit enough
To murder any man, and I'll give him means.

[Aside.

I think thou art ill-moneyed?

Ven. Money! ho, ho![86]
'T has been my want so long, 'tis now my scoff:
I've e'en forgot what colour silver's of.

Lus. It hits as I could wish. [Aside.

Ven. I get good clothes
Of those that dread my humour; and for table-room
I feed on those that cannot be rid of me.

Lus. Somewhat to set thee up withal.

[Gives him money.