_Beech_. Your poore estate! nay, neighbour, say not so,
For God be thanked you are well to live.

_Mer_. Not so good neighbour, but a poore young man,
That would live better if I had the meanes:
But as I am I can content myselfe,
Till God amend my poore abilitie.

_Neigh_. In time no doubt; why, man, you are but young,
And God, assure your selfe, hath wealth in store,
If you awaight his will with patience.

_Beech_. Thankes be to God I live contentedlie,
And yet I cannot boast of mightie wealth:
But yet Gods blessings have beene infinit,
And farre beyond my expectations.
My shop is stor'd, I am not much in debt;
And here I speake it where I may be bold,
I have a score of poundes to helpe my neede,
If God should stretch his hand to visit me
With sicknesse or such like adversity.

_Neigh_. Enough for this; now, neighbour, whats to pay?

_Mer_. Two pence, good sir.

_Beech_. Nay, pray, sir, forbeare;
Ile pay this reckoning, for it is but small.

_Neigh_. I will not strive since yee will have it so.