_1 Mer._ Yes, and must have fair play:
There is no living here else; one hour's failing
Fails us of all our friends, of all our credits:
For my part, I would stay, but my wants tell me,
I must wrong others in't.
_Gos._ No mercy in ye!
_2 Mer._ 'Tis foolish to depend on others mercy:
Keep your self right, and even cut your cloth, Sir,
According to your calling, you have liv'd here,
In Lord-like Prodigality, high, and open,
And now ye find what 'tis: the liberal spending
The Summer of your Youth, which you should glean in,
And like the labouring Ant, make use and gain of,
Has brought this bitter, stormy Winter on ye,
And now you cry.
_3 Mer._ Alas, before your Poverty,
We were no men, of no mark, no endeavour;
You stood alone, took up all trade, all business
Running through your hands, scarce a Sail at Sea,
But loaden with your Goods: we poor weak Pedlers;
When by your leave, and much intreaty to it,
We could have stowage for a little Cloath,
Or a few Wines, put off, and thank your Worship.
Lord, how the World's chang'd with ye? now I hope, Sir,
We shall have Sea-room.
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