_Arn._ These are no wants
If put in ballance with _Zenocias_ loss;
In that alone all miseries are spoken:
O my _Rutilio_, when I think on her,
And that which she may suffer, being a Captive,
Then I could curse my self, almost those powers
That send me from the fury of the Ocean.
_Rut_. You have lost a wife indeed, a fair and chast one,
Two blessings, not found often in one woman;
But she may be recovered, questionless
The ship that took us was of _Portugal_,
And here in _Lisbon_, by some means or other
We may hear of her.
_Arn_. In that hope I live.
_Rut_. And so do I, but hope is a poor Sallad
To dine and sup with, after a two dayes fast too,
Have you no mony left?
_Arn_. Not a Denier.
_Rut_. Nor any thing to pawn? 'tis now in fashion,
Having a Mistress, sure you should not be
Without a neat Historical shirt.
_Arn_. For shame
Talk not so poorly.
_Rut_. I must talk of that
Necessity prompts us to, for beg I cannot,
Nor am I made to creep in at a window,
To filch to feed me, something must be done,
And suddenly resolve on't.
_Enter_ Zabulon _and a Servant_.
_Arn_. What are these?
_Rut_. One by his habit is a _Jew_.
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