_Mor._ Pardon me Captain, y'are beside my meaning.
_Young Lo._ No Mr. _Morecraft_, 'tis the Captains meaning I should prepare
her for ye.
_Capt._ Or provok her. Speak my modern man, I say provoke her.
_Poet._ Captain, I say so too, or stir her to it. So say the Criticks.
_Young Lo._ But howsoever you expound it sir, she's very welcom, and this
shall serve for witness. And Widow, since y'are come so happily, you shall
deliver up the keyes, and free possession of this house, whilst I stand by
to ratifie.
_Wid._ I had rather give it back again believe me, 'Tis a miserie to say
you had it. Take heed?
_Young Lo._ 'Tis past that Widow, come, sit down, some wine there, there
is a scurvie banquet if we had it. All this fair house is yours Sir
_Savil_?
_Savil._ Yes Sir.
_Young Lo._ Are your keyes readie, I must ease your burden.
_Sav._ I am readie Sir to be undone, when you shall call me to't.
_Young Lo._ Come come, thou shalt live better.
_Sav._ I shall have less to doe, that's all, there's half a dozen of my
friends i'th' fields sunning against a bank, with half a breech among 'em,
I shall be with 'em shortly. The care and continuall vexation of being
rich, eat up this rascall. What shall become of my poor familie, they are
no sheep, and they must keep themselves.
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