Speak.

So may this gentleman too.

SUB.

Why, sir –

FAC.

No whispering.

SUB.

'Fore heaven, you do not apprehend the loss

You do yourself in this.

FAC.

Wherein? For what?

SUB.

Marry, to be so importunate for one,

That, when he has it, will undo you all:

He'll win up all the money i' the town.

FAC.

How!

SUB.

Yes. And blow up gamester after gamester,

As they do crackers, in a puppet play.

If I do give him a familiar,

Give you him all you play for; never set him:

For he will have it.

FAC.

You're mistaken, Doctor.

Why, he does ask one but for cups, and horses,

A rifling fly: none o' your great familiars.

DAP.

Yes, Captain, I would have it, for all games.

SUB.

I told you so.

FAC.

'Slight, that's a new business!

I understood you, a tame bird, to fly

Twice in a term, or so; on Friday nights,

When you had left the office: for a nag,

Of forty or fifty shillings.

DAP.

Aye, 'tis true, sir,

But I do think, now, I shall leave the law,

And therefore –

FAC.

Why, this changes quite the case!

D'you think that I dare move him?

DAP.

If you please, sir,

All's one to him, I see.

FAC.

What! For that money?

I cannot with my conscience. Nor should you

Make the request, methinks.

DAP.

No, sir, I mean

To add consideration.

FAC.

Why then, sir,

I'll try. Say, that it were for all games, Doctor?

SUB.

I say, then, not a mouth shall eat for him

At any ordinary, but o' the score,

That is a gaming mouth, conceive me.

FAC.

Indeed!

SUB.

He'll draw you all the treasure of the realm,

If it be set him.

FAC.

Speak you this from art?

SUB.

Aye, sir, and reason too: the ground of art.

He's o' the only best complexion,

The Queen of Faery loves.

FAC.

What! Is he!

SUB.

Peace.

He'll overhear you. Sir, should she but see him –

FAC.

What?

SUB.

Do not you tell him.

FAC.

Will he win at cards too?

SUB.

The spirits of dead Holland, living Isaac,

You'd swear were in him: such a vigorous luck

As cannot be resisted. 'Slight, he'll put

Six o' your gallants to a cloak, indeed.

FAC.

A strange success, that some man shall be born to!

SUB.

He hears you, man –

DAP.

Sir, I'll not be ingrateful.

FAC.

Faith, I have a confidence in his good nature:

You hear, he says, he will not be ingrateful.

SUB.

Why, as you please, my venture follows yours.

FAC.

Troth, do it, Doctor. Think him trusty, and make him.

He may make us both happy in an hour:

Win some five thousand pound, and send us two on't.

DAP.

Believe it, and I will, sir.

FAC.

And you shall, sir.

You have heard all?

DAP.

No, what was't? Nothing, I sir.

FAC.

Nothing?

DAP.

A little, sir.

 

(Face takes him aside)

 

FAC.

Well, a rare star

Reigned at your birth.

DAP.

At mine, sir? No.

FAC.

The Doctor

Swears that you are –

SUB.

Nay, Captain, you'll tell all, now.

FAC.

Allied to the Queen of Faery.

DAP.

Who? That I am?

Believe it, no such matter –

FAC.

Yes, and that

You were born with a caul o' your head.

DAP.

Who says so?

FAC.

Come.

You know it well enough, though you dissemble it.

DAP.

I-fac, I do not. You are mistaken.

FAC.

How!

Swear by your fac? And in a thing so known

Unto the Doctor? How shall we, sir, trust you

I'the other matter? Can we ever think,

When you have won five or six thousand pound,

You'll send us shares in't, by this rate?

DAP.

By Jove, sir,

I'll win ten thousand pound, and send you half.

I-fac's no oath.

SUB.

No, no, he did but jest.

FAC.

Go to. Go, thank the Doctor. He's your friend

To take it so.