LADY C. Well, I must trust The feoffees then: but they are honest men.
FRUIT. You need not fear them; they are zealous men, Honest in all their dealings, and well known In London, madam. Will you seal it now?
FRUIT. 'Tis here: Here's Master Trusty too, Your steward, madam; he and I shall be Enough for witnesses.
LADY C. 'Tis true: give me The seal. So now dispose of it as I Intended, Master Fruitful. [_Seals and delivers._
LADY C. Trusty, come you along with me. [_Exeunt._
FRUIT. Now all our ends are wrought! this is the thing, Which I so long have labour'd to effect. Old covetous lady, I will purge your mind Of all this wealth, that lay so heavy there, And by evacuation make a cure Of that your golden dropsy, whose strange thirst Could ne'er be satisfied with taking in. You once had wealth--But soft, let me consider! If she should marry old Sir Argent Scrape, We could not keep it; for his money then Would make a suit against us, and perchance Recover hers again; which to prevent I will go spoil the marriage presently. The sight of this will soon forbid the banns, And stop his love. Then she wants means to sue us. Be sure to keep thine adversary poor, If thou wouldst thrive in suits. The way to 'scape Revenge for one wrong is to do another: The second injury secures the former. I'll presently to old Sir Argent Scrape, And tell him this: he's meditating now, What strange additions to his large revenue Are coming at one happy clap; what heaps Of wealth to-morrow he shall be possess'd of; What purchases to make; how to dispose Of her and hers. But soft, the cards must turn: The man must be deceived, and she much more. To cosen the deceitful is no fraud. [_Exit._
SIR ARG. Methinks a youthful figure doth possess My late stiff limbs; and (like a snake) I feel A second spring succeed my age of winter. O gold! how cordial, how restorative Art thou! What, though thou canst not give me legs Nor active hands, alas! I need them not; Possess'd of thee, I can command the legs, The hands, the tongues, the brains, of other men To move for me. What need he hands or brains, That may command the lawyer's subtlety, The soldier's valour, the best poet's wit, Or any writer's skill? O gold! to thee The sciences are servants; the best trades Are but thy slaves, indeed thy creatures rather: For thee they were invented, and by thee Are still maintained. 'Tis thou alone that art The nerves of war, the cement of the state, And guide of human actions. 'Tis for thee Old Argent lives. O, what a golden shower Will rain on me to-morrow! Let me see: Her personal estate alone will buy Upon good rates a thousand pound a year. Where must that lie? Not in our country here-- Not all together; no; then my revenue Will have too great a notice taken of it; I shall be rais'd in subsidies, and 'sess'd More to the poor. No, no, that must not be. I'll purchase all in parcels, far from home, And closely as I can: a piece in Cornwall; In Hampshire some; some in Northumberland. I'll have my factors forth in all those parts, To know what prodigals there be abroad, What pennyworths may be had: so it shall be.