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SCENE III. Roderigo's House.
'TIS what I fear'd—my Levant Merchant taken by the Turks—my French-man sunk at Sea—my Spaniard lost at Dice.—And what's worse? My Credit is at Stake—my Cash in my Wife's Hands, and if she prove cross, there's no more to be said—I must break.
I am a Gentleman, Sir—and the King's no more.
Heaven maintain it, Sir.
Maintain me!—I have an Estate somewhere beyond the Mountains in my own Country; and where a Pigeon House once stood; which, were it standing, as it is now fall'n, well-stock'd with Pigeons, and removed to Madrid, might be worth to me—a brace of Thousand Mareveds yearly—
That is to say, about Twenty Shillings English.
Maintain me!
Your Pardon, Sir.
Yet think it no Dishonour to converse with our Jews in black∣hats, here—Somewhat below me, I must confess—but I am now and then serviceable to 'em, and they thank me.
I remember ye, Sir—Your commands to me.
That's as you please—You are Signior, a Man of Fortune, which makes them Envy you.—In short, 'tis given out, your Ships are miscarried,—and now, one taxes this, another that, a third, your Cattamountain, (my Relation) your Lady.
Alas, poor Fool! must she suffer too?
I was once about to have made them eat their Words—but Prudence (as sometimes it shou'd) interpos'd.—Upon the whole, if you pay 'em not Forty Thousand Duckats, you'll be Arrested ere Night.
Neither my Ships nor that, will much affect me.
The more's my Joy—But, since they are such Scoundrels, name me the Man ye do but doubt—and—he's dead.
By no means, Signior—However, as an acknowledgment of your Respect—be pleas'd—
I beseech ye, Sir—what d'ye mean—nay—