GOVERNOUR.
Tis but two hundred pound between us, man.
What's that in payment of five thousand pound?

BAGOT.
Two hundred pound! birlady, sir, tis great:
Before I got so much, it made me sweat.

GOVERNOUR.
Well, Master Bagot, I'll profer you fairly.
You see this Merchant, master Banister,
Is going now to prison at your suit.
His substance all is gone; what would you have?
Yet in regard I knew the man of wealth--
Never dishonest dealing, but such mishaps
Hath fallen on him, may light on me or you--
There is two hundred pound between us;
We will divide the same: I'll give you one,
On that condition you will set him free:
His state is nothing, that you see your self,
And where naught is, the King must lose his right.

BAGOT.
Sir, sir, you speak out of your love,
Tis foolish love, sir, sure, to pity him:
Therefore, content your self; this is my mind:
To do him good I will not bate a penny.

BANISTER.