Beggars Bush | Page 8

a voyce was here now? This was one passing
bell, a thousand ravens Sung in that man now, to presage my ruins.

2 Mer. Goswin, good day, these winds are very constant.
Gos. They are so Sir; to hurt--
2 Mer. Ha' you had no letters Lately from England, nor from Denmark?
Gos. Neither.
2 Mer. This wind brings them; nor no news over land, Through Spain,
from the Straights?
Gos. Not any.
2 Mer. I am sorry Sir. [Exit.
Gos. They talk me down: and as 'tis said of Vulturs They scent a field
fought, and do smell the carkasses By many hundred miles: So do these,
my wracks At greater distances. Why, thy will Heaven Come on, and
be: yet if thou please, preserve me; But in my own adventure, here at
home, Of my chast love, to keep me worthy of her, It shall be put in
scale 'gainst all ill fortunes: I am not broken yet: nor should I fall, Me
thinks with less than that, that ruins all. [Exit.

SCENA III.
Enter Van-dunck, Hubert, Hemskirk, and Margaret, Boors.
Van. Captain, you are welcom; so is this your friend Most safely
welcom, though our Town stand out Against your Master, you shall
find good quarter: The troth is, we not love him: Margaret some wine,
Let's talk a little treason, if we can Talk treason, 'gainst the traitors; by
your leave, Gentlemen, We, here in Bruges, think he do's usurp, And
therefore I am bold with him.
Hub. Sir, your boldness Happily becomes your mouth, but not our ears,
While we are his servants; And as we come here, Not to ask questions,
walk forth on your walls, Visit your courts of guard, view your

munition, Ask of your corn-provisions, nor enquire Into the least, as
spies upon your strengths, So let's entreat, we may receive from you
Nothing in passage or discourse, but what We may with gladness, and
our honesties here, And that shall seal our welcom.
Van. Good: let's drink then, Fill out, I keep mine old pearl still Captain.
Marg. I hang fast man.
Hen. Old Jewels commend their keeper, Sir.
Van. Here's to you with a heart, my Captains friend, With a good heart,
and if this make us speak Bold words, anon, 'tis all under the Rose
Forgotten: drown all memory, when we drink.
Hub. 'Tis freely spoken noble Burgomaster, I'le do you right.
Hem. Nay Sir mine heer Van-dunck Is a true Statesman.
Van. Fill my Captains cup there, O that your Master Wolfort Had been
an honest man.
Hub. Sir?
Van. Under the Rose.
Hem. Here's to you Marget.
Marg. Welcome, welcome Captain.
Van. Well said my pearl still.
Hem. And how does my Niece? Almost a Woman, I think? This friend
of mine, I drew along w[i]th me, through so much hazard, Only to see
her: she was my errand.
Van. I, a kind Uncle you are (fill him his glass) That in seven years,
could not find leisure--

Hem. No, It's not so much.
Van. I'le bate you ne'r an hour on't, It was before the Brabander 'gan his
War, For moon-shine, i'the water there, his Daughter That never was
lost: yet you could not find time To see a Kinswoman; but she is worth
the seeing, Sir, Now you are come, you ask if she were a Woman? She
is a Woman, Sir, fetch her forth Marget. [Exit Marg. And a fine
Woman, and has Suitors.
Hem. How? What Suitors are they?
Van. Bachellors; young Burgers: And one, a Gallant, the young Prince
of Merchants We call him here in Bruges.
Hem. How? a Merchant? I thought, Vandunke, you had understood me
better, And my Niece too, so trusted to you by me, Than t'admit of such
in name of Suitors.
Van. Such? he is such a such, as were she mine I'd give him thirty
thousand crowns with her.
Hem. But the same things, Sir, fit not you and me. [Ex.
Van. Why, give's some wine, then; this will fit us all: Here's to you still,
my Captains friend: All out: And still, would Wolfort were an honest
man, Under the Rose, I speak it: but this Merchant Is a brave boy: he
lives so, i'the Town here, We know not what to think on him: at some
times We fear he will be Bankrupt; he do's stretch Tenter his credit so;
embraces all, And to't, the winds have been contrary long. But then, if
he should have all his returns, We think he would be a King, and are
half sure on't. Your Master is a Traitor, for all this, Under the Rose:
Here's to you; and usurps The Earldom from a better man.
Hub. I marry, Sir, Where is that man?
Van. Nay soft: