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Another room in the same.
Another room in the prison.
Enter POMPEY
POMPEY enters.





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POMPEY
I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house
of profession: one would think it were Mistress
Overdone’s own house, for here be many of her old
customers. First, here’s young Master Rash; he’s in
for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger,
ninescore and seventeen pounds; of which he made
five marks, ready money: marry, then ginger was not
much in request, for the old women were all dead.
Then is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of
Master Three-pile the mercer, for some four suits of
peach-coloured satin, which now peaches him a
beggar. Then have we here young Dizzy, and young
Master Deep-vow, and Master Copperspur, and Master
Starve-lackey the rapier and dagger man, and young
Drop-heir that killed lusty Pudding, and Master
Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shooty the
great traveller, and wild Half-can that stabbed
Pots, and, I think, forty more; all great doers in
our trade, and are now ‘for the Lord’s sake.’
POMPEY
I’ve got as many friends here as I did back at the brothel. You’d think it were Mistress Overdone’s very own house, so many of her old customers are here. First, here’s young Mister Hasty; he’s in for debt, having paid 197 pounds for some coarse brown paper and old ginger candy, and making back only three pounds selling it.

Ginger

ginger was considered an aphrodisiac for older women

Ginger
wasn’t much in demand, because the old ladies were all dead. Then there’s one Mister Pirouette, defendant in a suit about four suits, brought by Mister Thick Velvet, the textile merchant. He’s being impeached over peach-colored satin. Then we’ve also got young Ditsy, and young Mister Cross-My-Heart, and Mister Cubic Zirconia and Mister Cheapskate, armed to fight duels, and young Kill-Heir who murdered robust Stuffed-Guts, and Mister Forward-Thrust the fighter, and dressed-to-kill Mister Shoe-Buckle, the world-traveler, and wild Half-Pint who stabbed Pots, and, I think, forty more gents—all great clients of our business, who now sing that old prison refrain, “Give us food for the Lord’s sake.”
Enter ABHORSON
ABHORSON enters.

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ABHORSON
Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.
ABHORSON
You there, bring Barnardine here.