Pen. Have you not heard, my lord, or do ye not know?
C. Fred. Not I, I swear.
Pen. Then you know nothing that is worth the knowing.
Capt. Pouts. That's certain: he knows you.
Pen. There's a young merchant, a late suitor, that deals by wholesale, and heir to land, well-descended, of worthy education, beholding to nature.
C. Fred. O, 'tis young Strange.
Capt. Pouts. Is't he that looks like an Italian tailor out of the lac'd wheel?[19] that wears a bucket on his head?
C. Fred. That is the man: yet believe me, captain, it is a noble sprightly citizen.
Capt. Pouts. Has he money?