_Must._ Good my lord, take pity upon a poor man in this world, and
damn me in the next.
_Mufti._ No, sirrah, so you may repent and escape punishment: Did not
you sell this very slave amongst the rest to me, and take money for
him?
_Must._ Right, my lord.
_Mufti._ And selling him again? take money twice for the same
commodity? Oh, villain! but did you not know him to be my slave,
sirrah?
_Must._ Why should I lie to your honour? I did know him; and
thereupon, seeing him wander about, took him up for a stray, and
impounded him, with intention to restore him to the right owner.
_Mufti._ And yet at the same time was selling him to another: How
rarely the story hangs together!
_Must._ Patience, my lord. I took him up, as your herriot, with
intention to have made the best of him, and then have brought the
whole product of him in a purse to you; for I know you would have
spent half of it upon your pious pleasures, have hoarded up the other
half, and given the remainder in charities to the poor.
_Mufti._ And what's become of my other slave? Thou hast sold him too,
I have a villainous suspicion.
_Must._ I know you have, my lord; but while I was managing this young
robustious fellow, that old spark, who was nothing but skin and bone,
and by consequence very nimble, slipt through my fingers like an eel,
for there was no hold-fast of him, and ran away to buy himself a new
master.
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