PROLOGUS.

The humble Socke that true Comedians weare,

Our Muse hath don'd, and, to your fav'ring eyes,

In lowest Plaine-song, doth herselfe appeare,
Borrowing no colours from a quaint disguise:
If your faire fauours cause her spirite to rise,
Shee to the highest pitch her wings shall reare,
And prowd quothernicke action shall deuise,
To winne your sweet applause she deemes so deare.

Meane while, shore up our tender pamping twig,

That yet on humble ground doth lowely lie—
Your fauour's sunneshine guilding once this sprig,
may yeeld Nectar for the gods on hie;

It

Though an Inuention lame, imperfect be,
Yet giue the Cripple almes for charitie.

[Exit.

THE

FAIR MAID OF THE EXCHANGE.

ACT I., SCENE I.

The Suburbs of London. Enter SCARLET and BOB

BINGTON.

Scar. Even now the welcome twilight doth salute Th' approaching night, clad in black sable weeds, Black as my thoughts, that harbour nought but death, Thefts, murders, rapes, and such like damnéd acts, The infant babes to whom my soul is nurse. Come, Bobbington, this star-bespangled sky Bodeth some good: the weather's fair and dry. Bob. My scarlet-hearted Scarlet, gallant blood, Whose bloody deeds are worthy memory Of after-ages, let me embrace thee: so, So, now methinks I fold a richer gem Than wealthy India can afford to Spain. There lies my treasure, and, within thy arms, Security that never breedeth harms.

Scar. Brave resolution! I am proud to see

So sweet a graft upon a wormwood tree,

Whose juice is gall, but yet the fruit most rare.

Who recks the tree, if that the fruit be fair?

Therefore, resolve, if we a booty get,

'It boots not whence, from whom, when, where, or what.