W. Rash. Thou hast a wild hand, indeed. Thy small cards show like a troop of rebels, and the knave of clubs their chief leader.
Scat. And so they do, as God save me: by the cross of this silver, he says true.
Enter Spendall.
Staines. Pray, play, sir.
Long. Honour.
W. Rash. How go the stocks, gentlemen? what's won or lost?
Staines. This is the first game.
Scat. Yes, this is the first game; but, by the cross of this silver, here's all of five pounds.
Spend. Good day to you, gentlemen.
W. Rash. Frank, welcome, by this hand; how dost, lad?