Dramatis Personæ [in order of appearance]

VERMIN, an old usurer
DRYGROUND,* an old decayed knight
ALICE, Vermin’s daughter
[FIRST] SERVANT,* [one of Vermin’s servants]
WAT, Vermin’s son
BUMPSEY,* an old justice
Mistress* MAGDALEN,* Bumpsey’s wife
VALENTINE,* Dryground’s son
JANE, [Bumpsey’s] daughter*
Oliver, [a] gallant [and friend of Valentine]
Ambrose, [a] gallant [and friend of Valentine]
Sir AMPHILUS,* a Cornish knight
TREBASCO, Sir Amphilus his footman
BROOKALL,* a gentleman undone by Vermin
PHYLLIS,* a poor wench
FRIENDLY, a Templer*
FRANCES,* a young gentlewoman
[SECOND]* SERVANT, [one of Bumpsey’s servants]
ELEANOR, [Phyllis’s mother]


2Prologue.Our playmaker – for yet he won’t be called
        Author, or poet,* nor beg to be installed
        Sir Laureate* – has sent me out t’invite
        Your fancies to a full and clean delight,
        And bids me tell you that though he be none
        Of those whose tow’ring Muses scale the throne
        Of kings,* yet his familiar mirth’s as good,
        When ’tis by you approved and understood,*
        As if he’d writ strong lines and had the fate
        Of other fools for meddling with the state.*
        Readers and audients make good plays or books;
        ’Tis appetite makes dishes, ’tis not cooks.
        But let me tell you, though you have the power
        To kill or save, they’re tyrants that devour*
        And princes that preserve. He does not aim
        So much at praise, as pardon, nor does claim
        Laurel,* but money; bays will buy no sack
        And honour fills no belly, clothes no back.
        And therefore you may see his main intent
        Is his own welfare and your merriment.
        Then often come, ’twill make us and him the wetter,
        We’ll drown the faults of this in one that’s better.

The scene, London.

[Enter] VERMIN [and] DRYGROUND.*

3VerminYou have your money, full a thousand pound,*
        Sir Humphrey Dryground.

4DrygroundAnd you have my mortgage.*

5VerminAll well and good, all well and good. But now,
        Sir Humphrey Dryground, let me counsel you.
        You have already spent a fair estate,
        A goodly, great estate – I do not taunt,
        Nor tax you for’t.

6DrygroundBecause it’s pumped into
        The purses of such wretches as thyself.

7VerminBut give me leave, now, fairly to admonish
        You to a care how you do part with this.
        You spirited men call money dirt and mud;
        I say it is the eel.

8DrygroundAnd you the mud
        That foster it.

9VerminIt is an eel, I say,
        In such sleek hands as yours, from whence it glides—

10DrygroundInto the mud, oft-times, from whence it came.

11VerminI know you do conceive me. Therefore, sir
        (As I before was saying), hold it fast.

12DrygroundAccording to the ballad:[He sings.]
        ‘Youth keep thy money fast
        And tie it in thy purse,
        For that must be thine only friend
        For better and for worse.’*

13VerminSo, so, I see it going already.

14DrygroundAye,* to thy comfort. This is the usurer’s scripture,
        And all that they pretend salvation by:
        To give good admonition with their money,
        Though in their hearts they wish the quick subversion
        Of all they deal with. This is all they plead
        Against the curses of oppressèd souls:
        ‘Did not I warn you?’ ‘Did not I say, “take heed”?’
        And so, and so forth. I must thank you, sir.

15VerminYou say you’ll make a venture of this money.

16DrygroundYes, Master Vermin, in a project that—

17VerminOut upon projects. Fie, fie, out, out, out.

18DrygroundI’m confident shall set me out of debt
        With you and all the world, and reap again
        All that I formerly have sown, with profit.

19VerminSown! There’s a word! Prodigal waste is sowing;
        We shall call shipwreck, shortly, sowing too.
        Hark you, Sir Humphrey Dryground, may not I
        Be privy to* your project? Will you tell me,
        If I guess on it?*

20DrygroundThat I will, in sooth.

21VerminIs’t not to drain the Goodwins?* To be lord
        Of all the treasure buried in the sands there?
        And have a million yearly from the merchants
        To clear the passage?

22DrygroundYou have had your blow.
        No, sir, my project is in the behalf
        Of the poor gentleman you overthrew
        By the strong hand of law, bribes, and oppression:
        Brookall – do you know him, sir? – whose state you sucked,
        That wrought him to a poverty that cries
        Your sinful covetise up to the height,
        And renders you the monster of our time
        For avarice and cruelty.

23VerminNo more of that.

24DrygroundYou should do well to add a sum like this
        To his relief, to waive the bitter curse
        That will in time fall on you and your house.

25VerminOh ho! I now remember; you have reason!
        That Brookall had a sister, whom you vitiated
        In your wild heat of blood, and then denied
        Her promised marriage, turned her off* with child
        A dozen years since, and since that never heard of.
        Ha! Is’t not so? Pray, did you know her, sir?

26DrygroundI wish I could redeem that ruthful fault
        By all expiatory means.* But thy
        Inhuman* cruelty is inexpiable*
        Unless (it comes from Heaven into my heart
        To move thee to’t) thou tak’st a speedy course
        To give him threefold restitution.
        I’ll put thee in the way.* He has a son,
        A hopeful youth, a student in the law,
        If his poor father’s want of means have not
        Declined his course; give him thy only daughter,
        And make his father’s own inheritance
        (By thee unrighteously usurped) her dowry,
        And pray a blessing may go with it. And then
        Thou may’st regain a Christian reputation,
        Till age shall lead thee to a quiet grave.
        Come, is’t a match? Will you bestow your daughter
        On Brookall’s son, and make your way to Heaven by’t?

27VerminYou have your money.

28DrygroundAnd thou hast adder’s ears*
        To all such counsels.

29VerminIf you break your day*
        I shall think of your counsel.

30DrygroundFarewell, Vermin.Exit.

31VerminAnd farewell, Dryground.
        This parcel of thy land, I’ll keep from wetting:[VERMIN produces] the mortgage.*
        ’Tis not in thee to turn an acre of it
        Into pure liquor for a twelvemonth’s day,*
        And break that day thy payment* and the sun
        Sets not more sure* than all this land is mine.
        My daughter! Ha! Can* ’t be in thought of man
        To dream of such a match? A wretch, a beggar?
        Within there! Where’s my girl? What, Ally? Ally?
Enter ALICE.

32AliceHere, sir—

33VerminMy blessing, and good morn. Now hear me, girl.

34Alice   [Aside]   Now for a speech—

35VerminThe care of children’s such a startle-brain,
        That had I more than one I should run wildcat;
        Than one, I mean, to care for – that’s thyself,
        My sober, discreet daughter. Note my care,
        Piled up for thee in massy sums of wealth,
        Too weighty for thy weak consideration
        To guess from whence it came, or how together
        So laid in mountainous heaps.

36AliceIt is indeed
        As strange to me, as are the stony wonders
        On Salisbury Plain* to others. But my duty
        Persuades me ’twas your thrift, and that great blessing
        That gives increase to honest industry,
        Drawn on it by your prayers and upright life,
        That wrought these heaps together.

37VerminOh, Ally, Ally,
        ’Tis well if thine with all thy housewifery
        Can keep ’em so! I thank thee for thy judgement
        And charitable thoughts. But—

38AliceYou had other ways.

39VerminI say, thou art the only child I care for.
        Thy brother (though I loath to call him so)
        Is, now, an utter stranger to my blood,
        Not to be named but with my curse, a wolf*
        That tears my very bowels out.

40Alice   [Aside]   Your money.*

41VerminA riotous reprobate, that hath consumed
        His last, already, of my means and blessing.

42AliceBut he yet may be turned, sir.

43VerminOut o’th’ compter!
        May he be so, dost think? Could I but dream
        His creditors, that have him fast, could be
        So idly merciful, or that his youthful ging
        Could stretch to get him out, I’ll lay, myself,
        An action on him weightier than the strength
        Of all their poor abilities could lift.
        His Jacks, his Toms, his Nams, Nolls, Gills, and Nuns,*
        The roaring fry of his blade-brandishing* mates,
        Should not release his carcass. If they did,
        I’d force him to a trial for his life
        For the two hundred pieces that he pilfered
        Out of my counting-house. He shall up.*

44AliceI will not forfeit my obedience, sir,
        To urge against your justice, only I crave
        Your leave to grieve that I have such a brother.

45VerminThou shalt defy the name of brother in him,*
        My only, only child, and but in one command
        Obey me further, all my estate is thine.
        ’Tis that I called thee for.

46AliceI do not crave
        More than your daily blessing, but desire
        To know what you’ll impose upon my duty.

47VerminThou shalt, and style thyself a lady by’t.

48Alice   [Aside]   Now Love defend me from the man I fear.

49VerminThis day I’ll match thee to a matchless knight.

50AliceThe western knight, sir, that was here last term?

51VerminEven he; this day he comes to town.

52Alice   [Aside]   Would I
        Were out on’t first. A matchless knight
        Indeed, and shall be matchless still for me.

53Vermin   [Aside]   I like those blushes well:* I read his welcome
        Upon her cheeks.

54AliceSir, I have heard he has
        But little land.

55VerminBut he has money, girl,
        Enough to buy the best knight’s land, that is
        A selling knight,* in the west part of England.

56AliceHe’s well in years.*

57VerminA lusty bachelor of two and fifty,
        With— oh, the husbandry that’s in him!

58AliceHow came he by his knighthood? Cost it nothing?

59VerminNo. He was one o’th’ cob-knights in the throng
        When they were dubbed in clusters.*

60[First] ServantSir, the knight
        That you expect this day is come to town;
        His man has brought ’s portmanteau.

61VerminFetch the man.
        The welcomest man alive is come to town!
        Ally, my girl, my daughter, Lady Bride!
        What title shall I give thee? Now bestir you.*
        I know his thrift; he has rid hard today
        To save his dinner.
Enter WAT disguised like a country serving-man.
        Welcome, honest friend.
        And how does the right worshipful Sir Amphilus?

62WatMy master is in health, sir, praised be Go—*
        A little weary, or so,* as I am of my carriage,
        Which I must not lay down, but in the hands
        Of your own worship.

63Vermin’Tis of weight and locked; I guess the worth,
        And warrant him the safety under these keys.
        But where’s thy master?

64WatAt his inn in Holborn*
        Telling a little with the host, till I
        Bring word from you.

65VerminNo, I will run to him
        Myself. You shall stay here, his chamber
        Fitted against he comes. Ally, bestir you,
        And think no pains your trouble on this day;
        Tomorrow’s sun shall light your wedding way.[VERMIN] exit[s].*

66Alice   [Aside]   Unless some unexpected fate relieve me,
        I shall be hurried to my endless ruin.

67WatYou are sad, methinks, young mistress. I can tell you,
        My master, when he comes, will make you merry.

68AliceHow? As he is a fool?

69WatNo, but as he has
        The soul of mirth and music at command:
        Money, the all-rejoicing spirit. That
        He’ll make you merry with. Nor that alone,
        But dignity, which women prize ’bove money.
        You are a lady by’t: mark that. And if
        He has a weakness, which you reckon folly,
        It lays you open way to sovereignty,
        The thing which is of most esteem. You’ll be
        His lady regent, rule all his, and him.

70AliceThis fellow talks not like a serving-man,
        A forty-shilling-wages* creature, but
        Some disguised spokesman. What may be the trick on’t?

71WatYou cannot, in th’ estate you are, imagine
        What ’tis to be a wife to such a man.

72AliceNo more than you perceive the pains you loose
        In fooling for him thus. But spare your breath
        And take this brief taste of his entertainment.*
        First, know that I do know the man you speak of
        To be a covetous miser, old and foolish,
        Not worth in my estimation the worst meal
        That ever he himself paid three pence for.*

73WatWho do you mean? Sir Amphilus, my knight?

74AliceYes, squire, I know him and his qualities,
        The ways he got his wealth by: casual matches
        Of forty, fifty, and sometimes a hundred
        For one, when bounteous Fortune (seldom failing
        Men of his brain) cast all into his mouth
        The gudgeon gaped for. And how slight a thing
        It is for such base worldlings to be rich,
        That study nothing but to scrape and save,
        That have no faith but in their ready money,
        Nor love to worldly pleasures above those
        Poor cobblers use.*

75WatCheap whores and duck-hunting:*
        There’s his delight indeed.

76AliceI hate to think of such a dunghill-scarab.*
        A water-dog-knight!*

77WatBut wedlock to his age* will bring him home
        To choicer pleasures, and abandon such.

78AliceHis age is fit for nothing but to rock
        Another’s child, and to rejoice through spectacles*
        At the strong guess he has it is his own.

79WatYou slight him strangely yet, but when you see
        Him, and his weighty reasons to confute you—

80AliceI will nor weigh, nor see him,* or his reasons.
        And if thou ow’st him so much service, tell him,
        Go back and tell him straight, save him the end
        Of his intended journey. For to come
        Hither will be to drive me hence. And tell
        My father, ere he shall enforce me take him
        I’ll fly into the arms of one he hates.

81WatAre you in earnest?

82AliceYes, by all my hopes.

83WatThese are the arms that must receive thee then.
        Nay, be not frighted, sister; look, ’tis I.[Takes] off his beard, etc.

84AliceBeshrew me but I am. How got you hither?
        Could not the compter hold you?

85WatSo it seems;
        My virtue was not to be so obscured.
        Noble Sir Humphrey Dryground, sister, was
        My frank enfranchiser. Oh, I have wonders
        To tell thee, sister! Thou must go with me.
        But first, lend me some money. Borrow some
        (And let it be a good sum) of my father,
        Now, in his absence. Come, supply, supply
        My pockets and thine own, for we must hence.
        Th’art made forever, sister. Quick, dispatch.

86AliceWhat’s the meaning of all this?

87Wat’Twill be too long to tell it here.
        The rascal fool to whom my father gives thee
        Is come to town, and should he now surprise thee,
        Here in my father’s power, thy strength might fail thee;
        Be therefore at a sure guard.* Oh, Sir Humphrey,
        How are my sister and myself bound to thee
        That plottest this escape! Dispatch, good Ally,
        And hear the* rest by th’ way.*

88AliceWhy? Wither? What’s the matter?

89WatSay thou will have that coxcomb, I’ll but kill thee,
        And leave thee* here, and all my care is over.

90AliceI’ll sooner die than have him.

91WatWhy do you not shun him then? O sweet Sir Humphrey,
        Is thy care slighted thus in my delivery?
        In my disguise? In sending out my father
        On Tom Fool’s errand,** while a coach is sent
        To the back door here? All to save my sister,
        My thankless sister, here, from worse than rape!

92AliceWhy, whither would you have me?

93WatBut hard by,
        But till the wildfire of my father’s passion
        Shall be run out. ’Slid, I had e’en forgot!
        Bear money with us, sister, pretty store.
        Who knows occasions? Let him keep in pawn
        My rich portmanteau for’t.

94AliceThere’s some good stuff in’t?

95WatMore than he’ll thank me for. We’ll talk i’th’ coach.
        In, in, and furnish, and so through the garden,
        And, whirr, we are gone! If we should be prevented,
        By this good steel,* if I but hear one knock
        I’ll make sure work o’ thee. I can but truss for’t;
        There’s a fair end on’s both. And what will he
        Do with his money then? Look how thou stand’st!
        If you respect your father, or the dog-master
        To be your husband, better than me, then take
        You your own course. Mine shall be known next sessions.

96AliceBetter than you! Don’t you respect your father
        Better than me?

97WatNo. If I do, let me be hanged for nothing,
        And that would anger any man, I think.
        ’Slid, thou and I had one mother (which
        We both take after), so had not he and we.
        And he takes after nobody that I know.
        He loves a stranger better than ’s own child,
        And that man’s money better than that man,
        The devil ’bove all, I think. Thou dost not know
        What coals we stand on.*

98AliceWho shall look to th’ house?

99WatWilt loose thyself with keeping that?* Is that
        All, now? Away, away!

100AliceY’are a precious brother.[They exit.]*

101BumpseyAll this needs not,* Sir Humphrey.

102DrygroundDo but hear patiently, and do your pleasure.* I go not about to stop your course, Master Bumpsey.

103BumpseyNor I yours, Sir Humphrey, nor your son’s here, nor his wife’s there. Only this gentlewoman* in mine own right I may be bold withal, while you depart my house, if you may be entreated, so. Is not this right? Is not this plain?

104MagdalenYet hear his worship speak, good Bump.

105BumpseyGood whirly, what can his worship speak? Or your wisdom twattle for him in this cause that I do not understand already? Has not his son wedded our daughter? How directly, or indirectly, who meddles with his match? Nay, more, has he not bedded her? How, directly or indirectly, who meddles with that either? Let him have and hold, possess (hmh!) and enjoy, do his worst and make his best of her, though she be an heir, I will not sue him out of her.* No, I protest, were it ante copulam,* as it is post,* I would not cross ’em. Is not this right and plain enough?

106DrygroundBut good Master Bumpsey, brother* Bumpsey, I would call you—

107BumpseyKeep your ‘brother’s and your ‘good’s to yourself, sir, I have no need of ’em. You are a knight, and a man of worship—

108Valentine   [To MAGDALEN and JANE]   He will speake all himself.*

109BumpseyI am a plain fellow, and out of debt.

110Magdalen   [To VALENTINE]   Aye,* let him run on.

111BumpseyI sought none of your alliance, I—

112Valentine   [To MAGDALEN and JANE]   Has he the speed to run beyond himself?*

113Jane   [To VALENTINE]   Yes, and bring himself about,* I warrant you.

114BumpseyNor to be joined with houses of great sound,
        Whose noise grows from their hollow emptiness.
        I could have matched my daughter here, that was,
        But now a baronetess in reversion,
        To a substantial heir of two fair lordships.

115DrygroundPerhaps no gentleman.

116BumpseyYet honourable: land-lordship’s* real honour,
        Though in a tradesman’s* son, when your fair titles
        Are but the shadows of your ancestry,
        And you walk in ’em, when your land is gone,
        Like the pale ghosts of dead nobility.*
        Ha! Is’t not so? Is not this right and plain?

117DrygroundYes, like the privilege you use in your own house here.

118BumpseyNay, I come up to you now, Sir Humphrey Dryground,
        Up in a point of chivalry. You are a knight,
        A baronet to boot: your son is like
        T’inherit that dear-paid-for* title, but—
        You’ll give me leave to use my plainness?


120BumpseyYour son (I say) is heir to your bought honour,*
        Which may hereafter ladify my daughter,
        But where’s the land you once were lord of? Ha?
        The goodly cornfields, meadows, woods and pastures
        That must maintain the house, the gowns, the coach,
        Withal by complements of horses, hawks, and hounds—

121Valentine   [To MAGDALEN and JANE]   Now he’s in.

122BumpseyWhere be the parks, the warrens, herds and flocks?
        Besides the gardens, orchards, walks and fish-ponds?*

123DrygroundFor that hear me—

124Bumpsey’Od’s pity, give me leave.
        You, that had all these once in three fair lordships,
        To be wrought on and tonied out of all
        But a small pittance of trois cents per annum*
        By providence entailed upon the heir
        Or ’t had had wasted too – which now maintains you
        In a proportion of smoke and sack
        To wash your mouth with after, where you live
        Confined in Milford Lane,* or Fullers Rents,*
        Or who knows where, it skills not—

125DrygroundMust I hear this too?

126MagdalenNow he has almost done.*

127BumpseyCan you (I say) think your good husbandry
        A lawful precedent for your gamesome son
        To make my daughter happy in a marriage,
        Though he had twice my fortunes?

128Jane   [To VALENTINE]   Now he’s coming.
        Bear but with this, and if he offer not
        More than you would request, I’ll lose your love.

129BumpseyBut here’s the substance of ’t,* you have my daughter.
        Your son, sir, has my daughter, that must have,
        And shall, my whole estate at my decease
        (No law exacts it sooner). This estate
        You safely may suppose ten thousand pounds,*
        Which I have got by thrifty industry.
        Only one thousand, I confess, my wife*
        Improved my fortune with. Here’s the just sum.*[Produces the money.]
        I give her leave to give it to her daughter:
        She may endow her husband with it. So,
        Is not this plain? Now note me further, sir,
        What I have left is my own, and you, sir, may
        With* what is theirs take hence your son and daughter,
        Till you shall hear old Bumpsey is deceased.
        Then let him come, and challenge all – that’s left –
        Meantime I know my course.

130Jane   [To MAGDALEN]   Now chop in with him, mother, you know how apt
        He is to cross you in these moods.*

131Valentine   [To BUMPSEY]   Dear, worthy, honoured, sir—*

132BumpseySh’t, sh’t, sh’t. Woman,* come you with me.

133MagdalenAye,* Bump. Let us go our way, and let them take theirs a’ God’s name.

134ValentinePray hear me, sir.

135MagdalenAt this time, sir, he shall not.

136BumpseyShall not! He shall, sure. ’Od’s pity! Shall not!
        Are you pleased to speak, sir?

137ValentineNot to offend—

138BumpseyNot to a fiddlestick. Shall not!
        Can you speak or not? If not, pray tell* me so.

139ValentineI married, sir, your daughter.

140BumpseyYou may thank
        Her mother for’t, not me. Well, will you speak?

141ValentineI married her in a firm hope to win
        Your love and favour.

143ValentineWhich since I have not yet, and time must work it,
        I would make this my suit—

144BumpseyWould I could hear it once.*

145ValentineThat you would take
        With re-acceptance* of this thousand pound
        Your daughter and me into your family.*

146BumpseyAnd why the thousand pound? Does ’t burn your fingers?

147[Valentine]*Give us but meat and lodging for’t. My father,
        Out of his little-left estate, will give us
        A hundred yearly* for other necessaries.

148[Dryground]With all my heart.

149ValentineAnd as you find my regular life deserve
        Your future favour, so extend your bounty,
        When age shall call upon you to dispose
        Of all your fair possessions.

150BumpseyHumh! A pretty odd speech this! I would I knew
        The meaning on’t.

151ValentineI mean, sir, as I speak: that till you find
        Strong probability* in me to manage
        A good estate, you trust me not with any.

152BumpseyHa! Is it so? Then I come to a point with you.

153Magdalen   [To DRYGROUND]   Mark him now, Sir Humphrey.

154BumpseyYou look, sir, in my daughter’s right, to have
        After my death my whole estate, by showing
        Me, in my lifetime, your good husbandry,
        By husbanding of nothing.*
        Y’ have ta’en off half my purpose, for I meant
        To have kept it in my power whether to leave her
        Any or nothing, and perhaps (d’ye hear)
        By an odd course that I was thinking on
        To ha’ made all nothing ere I died. But now
        Half of that power I’ll put into your hands:
        I’ll try what you can do with something.

155MagdalenHalf? What mean you half?

156BumpseyEven half of all I have.

157MagdalenI hope you will not deal so.

158BumpseyAnd as he deals with that, I’ll use the rest.

159MagdalenPray be advised.

160BumpseyNever by you ’gainst this.
        I’ll give him instantly the free possession
        Of half I have. Now mark: if you increase
        Or keep that half, then, doubtless, I shall do
        As well with t’other for you. If you diminish
        Or waste it all, I’ll do the like with my part.


162BumpseyI’ll do’t. Together we will live,
        And I’ll along with you in your own course,
        And, as you play your game, you win or lose all:
        Thrive and I’ll thrive; spend you, and I will spend;
        Save, and I’ll save; scatter, and I’ll scatter.

163MagdalenYou won’t be mad.

164BumpseyI’ll do’t. Let him throw money
        Into the Thames, make ducks and drakes* with pieces,
        I’ll do the like, till he has made a match
        Or no match of my daughter.* There’s the point
        And the whole substance on’t.

165DrygroundWill you do so?

166BumpseyWill I? ’Tis done. I’ll make him a good husband
        Or be no husband for him, and so see
        What’s mine out of the danger of his waste,
        And have some sport too for my money. Ha!
        I love to do these things.

167MagdalenNay, but in one thing, Bump, let me advise you.

168BumpseyIn nothing ’gainst this course, good whirly. No,
        ’Tis so set down. I know I shall be counted
        An odd old humorous coxcomb for’t by some,
        But the truth is I love to do these things.
        And so God gi’ ye joy.

169DrygroundI’ll take my leave, sir.

170BumpseyNot so I hope, Sir Humphrey.

171DrygroundI have business,
        And go well satisfied with this agreement.
        And Val, take briefly this my charge: you are now
        A husband, be a good one; y’ have my blessing.
        But (hark you) do you remember ’gainst the evening?

172ValentineAll, sir, all. I have spread my nets already.

173Dryground   [To BUMPSEY]   Sir, fare you well.

174BumpseyAt your pleasure,* sir.

175DrygroundI’ll shortly visit you.

176BumpseyAt your own good time,* sir.DRYGR[OUND exits].*
           [Aside]   These shall stay here. I’ll blindfold them with money,
        And by a new way try if they can grope
        The right way into th’ world.*   [Aloud]   Come your way.[They exit.]

Edited by Lucy Munro