's presence
Must now prevent my answer.

_Wyfe_. Where is shee? oh wheare, wheare? for by these tokens,
These of her childhood most unfallid signes,
I knwe her for my doughter.

_Mir_. I have bene
The longe and wretched owner of that cabinet
With all therein contein'd.

_Wyfe_. Into thy boosom
Oh lett mee rayne a shower of joyfull teares
To welcom thee, my _Mirable_.

_Godf_. You threatned her but nowe with skaldinge water; mee thinks you
had more neede to comfort her with hott waters, for sure shee canott bee
warme synce shee came so late out of the could bathe.

_Wyf_. Make fyares, bid them make ready wholesom brothes,
Make warme the bedd, and see the sheetes well ayred.
Att length then have I fownd thee?

_Ashb_. But what's shee
That's in thy fellow-shippe?

_Mir_. My fellowe sharer
In all misfortunes; and for many yeares
So deere to mee, I canot tast a blessednes
Of which shee's not partaker.

_Wyfe_. For thy sake
Shee shall bee myne too, and (in her) I'l thinke
The powers above have for my single losse
Given mee at lengthe a duble recompense.

_Scrib_. For which hee that protects all inocence
Will in good tyme reward you.

_Wyfe_. Praye, in, in;
This could is prejuditiall to your Healthes.
I'l count you boathe my twinnes.

[_Ext. Wife, Palestra, and Scribonia_.

_Ashb_. Strange alteration!
Skoldinge is turn'd to pittye, spleen and mallyce
To mercye and compassion.

_Fisher_. But your promisse
Tutchinge my budgett?

_Ashb. Godfreye_, beare it in
And lodge it safe; there's no tyme for that;
We'll talke of it herafter.

_Godf_. Fellow _Gripus_, I am made for this tyme porter. Ladeys, your
trusty treasurer.
[_Ext. Ashbourne and Godfrey_.

_Gripus_. These are the fishermen and I the fishe catcht in the nett;
well my comfort is, thoughe my booty have made me no ritcher then I was,
poorer then I am I canott bee. Nowe[136] wherein is the ritche more
happy then the poore? I thinke rather lesse blessed and that shall
approue by this excellent good ballet, thoughe sett to a scurvy tune.

Lett ech man speake as he's possest
I hold the poore man's state most blest.
For if longe lyfe contentment bredes,
In that the poore the ritche exceedes;

The ritch man's dayes are short, as spent
In pleasures and supposed content;
Whylst to us poore men care and troble
Makes every hower wee wast seeme duble.

He that hathe ech daye to