Not one
Of these so singular arts. Nor call yourselves,
By names of Tribulation, Persecution,
Restraint, Long-Patience, and such like, affected
By the whole family, or wood of you,
Only for glory, and to catch the ear
Of the disciple.
TRI.
Truly, sir, they are
Ways that the godly Brethren have invented
For propagation of the glorious cause,
As very notable means, and whereby also
Themselves grow soon, and profitably famous.
SUB.
Oh, but the stone, all's idle to it! Nothing!
The art of angels, Nature's miracle,
The divine secret, that doth fly in clouds,
From east to west: and whose tradition
Is not from men, but spirits.
ANA.
I hate traditions:
I do not trust them –
TRI.
Peace.
ANA.
They are Popish, all.
I will not peace. I will not –
TRI.
Ananias.
ANA.
Please the profane, to grieve the godly: I may not.
SUB.
Well, Ananias, thou shalt overcome.
TRI.
It is an ignorant zeal that haunts him, sir.
But truly, else, a very faithful Brother,
A botcher: and a man, by revelation,
That hath a competent knowledge of the truth.
SUB.
Has he a competent sum, there, i' the bag,
To buy the goods within? I am made guardian,
And must, for charity and conscience sake,
Now see the most be made for my poor orphan:
Though I desire the Brethren, too, good gainers.
There they are, within. When you have viewed, and bought 'em,
And ta'en the inventory of what they are,
They're ready for projection; there's no more
To do: cast on the medicine so much silver
As there is tin there, so much gold as brass,
I'll gi' it you in, by weight.
TRI.
But how long time,
Sir, must the Saints expect, yet?
SUB.
Let me see,
How's the moon now? Eight, nine, ten days hence
He will be silver potate; then three days
Before he citronise: some fifteen days,
The magisterium will be perfected.
ANA.
About the second day, of the third week,
In the ninth month?
SUB.
Yes, my good Ananias.
TRI.
What will the orphans' goods arise to, think you?
SUB.
Some hundred marks; as much as filled three cars,
Unladed now: you'll make six millions of 'em.
But I must ha' more coals laid in.
TRI.
How!
SUB.
Another load,
And then we ha' finished. We must now increase
Our fire to ignis ardens, we are past
Fimus equinus, balnei, cineris,
And all those lenter heats. If the holy purse
Should, with this draught, fall low, and that the Saints
Do need a present sum, I have a trick
To melt the pewter, you shall buy now, instantly,
And with a tincture, make you as good Dutch dollars,
As any are in Holland.
TRI.
Can you so?
SUB.
Aye, and shall bide the third examination.
ANA.
It will be joyful tidings to the Brethren.
SUB.
But you must carry it, secret.
TRI.
Aye, but stay,
This act of coining, is it lawful?
ANA.
Lawful?
We know no magistrate. Or, if we did,
This's foreign coin.
SUB.
It is no coining, sir.
It is but casting.
TRI.
Ha? You distinguish well.
Casting of money may be lawful.
ANA.
'Tis, sir.
TRI.
Truly, I take it so.
SUB.
There is no scruple,
Sir, to be made of it; believe Ananias:
This case of conscience he is studied in.
TRI.
I'll make a question of it to the Brethren.
ANA.
The Brethren shall approve it lawful, doubt not.
Where shall't be done?
(Knock without)
SUB.
For that we'll talk anon.
There's some to speak with me. Go in, I pray you,
And view the parcels. That's the inventory.
I'll come to you straight.
[Exeunt Tribulation, Ananias]
Who is it? Face! Appear.
Scene 3
Enter Face
SUB.
How now? Good prize?
FAC.
Good pox! Yond' costive cheater
Never came on.
SUB.
How then?
FAC.
I ha' walked the round,
Till now, and no such thing.
SUB.
And ha' you quit him?
FAC.
Quit him? And hell would quit him too, he were happy.
'Slight would you have me stalk like a mill-jade,
All day, for one, that will not yield us grains?
I know him of old.
SUB.
Oh, but to ha' gulled him,
Had been a maistry.
FAC.
Let him go, black boy,
And turn thee, that some fresh news may possess thee.
A noble Count, a Don of Spain (my dear
Delicious compeer, and my party-bawd)
Who is come hither, private, for his conscience,
And brought munition with him, six great slops,
Bigger than three Dutch hoys, beside round trunks,
Furnished with pistolets, and pieces of eight,
Will straight be here, my rogue, to have thy bath
(That is the colour,) and to make his battery
Upon our Dol, our castle, our cinque Port,
Our Dover pier, our what thou wilt. Where is she?
She must prepare perfumes, delicate linen,
The bath in chief, a banquet, and her wit,
For she must milk his epididymis.
Where is the doxy?
SUB.
I'll send her to thee:
And but dispatch my brace of little John Leydens,
And come again myself.
FAC.
Are they within then?
SUB.
Numbering the sum.
FAC.
How much?
SUB.
A hundred marks, boy.
[Exit]
FAC.
Why, this's a lucky day! Ten pounds of Mammon!
Three o' my clerk! A portague o' my grocer!
This o' the Brethren! Beside reversions,
And states, to come i' the widow, and my Count!
My share today will not be bought for forty –
[Enter Dol]
DOL.
What?
FAC.
Pounds, dainty Dorothy, art thou so near?
DOL.
Yes, say lord General, how fares our camp?
FAC.
As with the few, that had entrenched themselves
Safe, by their discipline, against a world, Dol:
And laughed, within those trenches, and grew fat
With thinking on the booties, Dol, brought in
Daily, by their small parties. This dear hour,
A doughty Don is taken, with my Dol;
And thou mayst make his ransom what thou wilt,
My Dousabel: he shall be brought here, fettered
With thy fair looks, before he sees thee; and thrown
In a down-bed, as dark as any dungeon;
Where thou shalt keep him waking, with thy drum;
Thy drum, my Dol; thy drum; till he be tame
As the poor blackbirds were i' the great frost,
Or bees are with a basin: and so hive him
I'the swan-skin coverlid, and cambric sheets,
Till he work honey and wax, my little God's-gift.
DOL.
What is he, General?
FAC.
An Adelantado,
A Grandee, girl. Was not my Dapper here yet?
DOL.
No.
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