_Beech_. Neighbour, farewell.

[_Exit Beech and Neigh_.

_Mer_. Farewell unto you both.
His shop is stor'd, he is not much in debt,
He hath a score of poundes to helpe his neede:
I and a score too if the trueth were known.
I would I had a shop so stor'd with wares,
And fortie poundes to buy a bargain with,
When as occasion should be offered me;
Ide live as merrie as the wealthiest man
That hath his being within London walles.
I cannot buy my beare, my bread, my meate,
My fagots, coales, and such like necessaries,
At the best hand, because I want the coine,
That manie misers cofer up in bagges,
Having enough to serve their turnes besides.
Ah for a tricke to make this _Beeches_ trash
Forsake his cofer and to rest in mine!
I, marrie, sir, how may that tricke be done?
Marrie, with ease and great facilitie.
I will invent some new-found stratagem,
To bring his coyne to my possession.
What though his death relieve my povertie?
Gaine waites on courage, losse on cowardice.

[_Exit_.