BROKER. I would not deal amiss with any man for a thousand pound.
HONESTY. And yet he will cut a man's throat for twelve-pence. Here is a cluster of knaves; here lacks but the baily of Hexham. [Aside.]
BROKER. Well, sir, here is the money: will it please you seal the assurance.
HONESTY. God save her, sirs, and her good friends; her is a poor Welshman, come as far as Carnarvon, in Wales, to receive a little money, and here a has paid her I cannot tell what. [_To_ BROKER.] Here, you master; what, is it not brass money?
BROKER. No, honest fellow; 'tis a good angel in gold.
HONESTY. Who told him my name? [_Aside_.] Hear you, master: a has a great deal more in her bosom, but a will take her leave.
CONEYCATCHER. Nay, stay and dine with me. I must fetch him over for all his gold. [_Aside_.]
HONESTY. Marry, I thank her, good master: I will wait upon her, I warrant you.
BROKER. Now, sir, have you seal'd and subscribed?
BROKER. And you deliver this as your deed to my use?
GENTLEMAN. With all my heart, sir; and hope you will use me well.
BROKER. We will talk of that another time: here is your money.
GENTLEMAN. I thank you, sir: I'll be gone.
CONEYCATCHER. Hear you, sir; was not this bravely done? [_Aside_.]
GENTLEMAN. Excellent: hold, here is forty pound, as I promised thee.
CONEYCATCHER. I thank you, sir. Do you hear, sir, you have got a thousand pound by the bargain; but much good may it do you. [_Exit_.
BROKER. God-a-mercy; and here's forty pound for thy pains. Such another match, and I'll give thee a hundred pound. [_Exit_.
CONEYCATCHER. I thank you, sir, God b'w'y'. Now to my Welshman. Sirrah, let me see thy piece of gold; I'll tell thee whether it be weight or no. Hast thou any more? I'll give thee white money for it.
HONESTY. Yes, a has a great deal more in her bosom, But a will have no whit' money: O, a loves red money.
CONEYCATCHER. Well, I'll keep them for thee, till thou come to my house.
HONESTY. Why, Cutbert, wilt thou never leave thy old knavery? Why, we should gree together like bells, If thou wert but hanged first. Why, we are as near kin together As the cates[299] of Banbury be to the bells of Lincoln. Why, man, we are all birds of a feather, And whosoever says nay, we will hold together. Come, you mad slave, thou dost not know me. Tush! I have done many better tricks than this.