_Ga_. Why, sir, few Cittizens? _Jac_. His words his bond, and does not break that bond To bankrupt others; he makes you not a library Of large monopolie to cosen all men: _Subintelligitur_, he hates to deale With such portentious othes as furr his mouth In the deliverance.

_Enter_Jouanny_. _Ga_. Hee comes himselfe.

_Jou_. Sir _Galeas_, if I mistake not? _Ga_. I weare my fathers name, sir.

_Jou_. And tis a dignity to weare that name. Whatts your affairs in _Parma_? _Ga_.

To visit you, sir. _Jou_. Gladness nor sorrow never paid mans debts.

-Your pleasure, sir? _Ga_. The livery of my griefe: my fathers dead And mee hath made his poore executor. _Jou_.

What? ought hee ten thousand duckets? Thy fathers face fixt in thy front Should be the paymaster tho from my hand. _Ga_. I doe not come to borrow: please yee read.

_Jou_. Read? and with good regard, for sorrow paies noe debts. _Ga_.