Beside your beech-coal, and your corsive waters,
Your crosslets, crucibles, and cucurbites?
You must have stuff brought home to you, to work on:
And yet you think, I am at no expense
In searching out these veins, then following them,
Then trying them out. 'Fore God, my intelligence
Costs me more money, than my share oft comes to,
In these rare works.

SUB. You are pleasant, sir.
[RE-ENTER DOL.]
-- How now!
What says my dainty Dolkin?

DOL. Yonder fish-wife
Will not away. And there's your giantess,
The bawd of Lambeth.

SUB. Heart, I cannot speak with them.

DOL. Not afore night, I have told them in a voice,
Thorough the trunk, like one of your familiars.
But I have spied sir Epicure Mammon --

SUB. Where?

DOL. Coming along, at far end of the lane,
Slow of his feet, but earnest of his tongue
To one that's with him.