Page 37
ACT. III. SCENE. I.
FITTON. CYMBAL, to them PICKLOCKE. REGISTER. CLERKE. THO: BARBER.
YOu hunt vpon a wrong scent still, and thinke
The ayre of things will carry 'hem, but it must
Be reason and proportion, not fine sounds,
My cousin Cymball, must get you this Lady.
You haue entertain'd a petty-fogger here,
Picklocke, with trust of an Emissartes place,
And he is, all, for the young Prodigall,
You see he has left vs.
CYM.
Come, you doe not know him,
That speake thus of him. He will haue a tricke,
To open vs a gap▪ by a trap-doore,
When they least dreame on't. Here he comes. What newes?
PICK.
Where is my brother Buz? my brother Ambler:
The Register, Examiner, and the Clerkes?
Appeare, and let vs muster all in pompe,
For here will be the rich Infanta, presently,
To make her visit. Peny-boy the heyre,
My Patron, has got leaue for her to play
With all her traine, of the old churle, her Guardian.
Now is your time to make all court vnto her;
That she may first but know, then loue the place,
And shew it by her frequent visits here:
And afterwards, get her to soiourne with you.
She will be weary of the Prodigall, quickly.
CYM.
Excellent newes!
FIT.
And counsell of an Oracle!
CYM.
How say you cousin Fitton?
FIT.
brother Picklock,
I shall adore thee, for this parcell of tidings,
It will cry vp the credit of our Office,
Eternally, and make our Staple immortall!
PICK.
Looke your addresses, then, be faire and fit,