Tit. We attend his Lordship: pray signifie so much
Flam. I need not tell him that, he knowes you are too diligent.
Enter Steward in a Cloake, muffled.
Luci. Ha: is not that his Steward muffled so?
He goes away in a Clowd: Call him, call him
Tit. Do you heare, sir?
2.Varro. By your leaue, sir
Stew. What do ye aske of me, my Friend
Tit. We waite for certaine Money heere, sir
Stew. I, if Money were as certaine as your waiting,
'Twere sure enough.
Why then preferr'd you not your summes and Billes
When your false Masters eate of my Lords meat?
Then they could smile, and fawne vpon his debts.
And take downe th' Intrest into their glutt'nous Mawes.
You do your selues but wrong, to stirre me vp,
Let me passe quietly:
Beleeue't, my Lord and I haue made an end,
I haue no more to reckon, he to spend
Luci. I, but this answer will not serue
Stew. If't 'twill not serue, 'tis not so base as you,
For you serue Knaues
1.Varro. How? What does his casheer'd Worship mutter? 2.Varro. No matter what, hee's poore, and that's reuenge enough. Who can speake broader, then hee that has no house to put his head in? Such may rayle against great buildings. Enter Seruilius.