With what a joyful heart should I go home then?
Where now, Heaven knows, like him that waits his sentence,
Or hears his passing Bell; but there's my hope still.

_Enter_ Gerrard.

_Ger._ Blessing upon you Master.

_Gos._ Thank ye; leave me,
For by my troth I have nothing now to give thee.

_Ger._ Indeed I do not ask Sir, only it grieves me
To see ye look so sad; now goodness keep ye
From troubles in your mind.

_Gos._ If I were troubled,
What could thy comfort do? prithee _Clause_, leave me.

_Ger._ Good Master be not angry; for what I say
Is out of true love to ye.

_Gos._ I know thou lov'st me.

_Ger._ Good Mr. blame that love then, if I prove so sawcy
To ask ye why ye are sad.

_Gos._ Most true, I am so,
And such a sadness I have got will sink me.

_Ger._ Heaven shield it, Sir.

_Gos._ Faith, thou must lose thy Master.

_Ger._ I had rather lose my neck, Sir: would I knew--

_Gos._ What would the knowledg do thee good so miserable,
Thou canst not help thy self? when all my ways
Nor all the friends I have--

_Ger._ You do not know Sir,
What I can do: cures sometimes, for mens cares
Flow, where they least expect 'em.

_Gos._ I know thou wouldst do,
But farewell _Clause_, and pray for thy poor Master.

_Ger._ I will not leave ye.

_Gos._ How?

_Ger._ I dare not leave ye, Sir, I must not leave ye,
And till ye beat me dead, I will not leave ye.
By what ye hold most precious, by Heavens goodness,
As your fair youth may prosper, good Sir tell me:
My mind believes yet something's in my power
May ease you of this trouble.

_Gos._ I will tell thee,
For a hundred thousand crowns upon my credit,
Taken up of Merchants to supply my traffiques,
The winds and weather envying of my fortune,
And no return to help me off, yet shewing
To morrow, _Clause_, to morrow, which must come,
In prison thou shalt find me poor and broken.

_Ger._ I cannot blame your grief Sir.

_Gos._ Now, what say'st thou?

_Ger._ I say you should not shrink, for he that gave ye,
Can give you more; his power can bring ye off Sir,
When friends and all forsake ye, yet he sees you.

_Gos._ There's all my hope.

_Ger._ Hope still Sir, are you ty'd
Within the compass of a day, good Master,
To pay this mass of mony?

_Gos._ Ev'n to morrow:
But why do I stand mocking of my misery?
Is't not enough the floods, and friends forget me?

_Ger._ Will no less serve?

_Gos._ What if it would?

_Ger._ Your patience,
I do not ask t