Where's the brave Steward?
_Savil._ Here's your poor friend, and _Savil_ Sir.
_Capt._ Away, th'art rich in ornaments of nature. First in thy face, thou
hast a serious face, a betting, bargaining, and saving face, a rich face,
pawn it to the Usurer; a face to kindle the compassion of the most
ignorant and frozen Justice.
_Savil._ 'Tis such I dare not shew it shortly sir.
_Capt._ Be blithe and bonny steward: Master _Morecraft_, Drink to this man
of reckoning?
_Mor._ Here's e'ne to him.
_Savil._ The Devil guide it downward: would there were in't an acre of the
great broom field he bought, to sweep your durtie Conscience, or to choak
ye, 'tis all one to me, Usurer.
_Young Lo._ Consider what I told you, you are young, unapt for worldly
business: Is it fit one of such tenderness, so delicate, so contrarie to
things of care, should stir and break her better meditations, in the bare
brokage of a brace of Angels? or a new Kirtel, though it be Satten? eat by
the hope of surfeits, and lie down only in expectation of a morrow, that
may undo some easie hearted fool, or reach a widows curses? Let out mony,
whose use returns the principal? and get out of these troubles, a
consuming heir: For such a one must follow necessarily, you shall die
hated, if not old and miserable; and that possest wealth that you got with
pining, live to see tumbled to anothers hands, that is no more a kin to
you, than you to his couzenage.
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