SCENE I.
S Death, I'm torn asunder, and eaten up with th'Expectation of all Epidicus's fine Pro∣mises.—It torments me strangely; and I'd gi' the World to know whether there be any Hopes or not.
For all Epidicus's great Helps, y'ought to seek out elswhere: For I could ha' told ye before-hand, you weren't to expect any thing from his Brain.
I'm a miserable Man, in earnest.
'Tis childish i'you, to vex your self so.
As I'm a living Soul, if I once lay hands on him, 'tshall ne'r be said that a pitiful Slave abus'd his Master without Punishment.—But what wou'd ye have him do, who has no Mony; when you, who has so much at command, won't part with a Penny, to keep a Friend from sinking?
Upo' my Word, if I had it, I wou'd with all my Heart. However you needn't fear, but you'll meet wi' something, by some ways, some means, from some Place, or from some Body; and you've still some hopes o'sharing i'my good Fortune, when I meet with't my self.
Po, hang such sneaking Fellows.
What's your Fancy in giving me this Language?
Because your Tongue ran all upo' your silly somethings, your some means, your some Places, and your some Bodies, which are all nothing to the purpose. I'll