SIR WIL.  Shame to our name to make thyself a beast,
Thy body worthy born, and thy youth’s breast
Till’d in due time for better discipline.

LORD.  Thyself new-married to a noble house,
Rich in possessions and posterity,
Which should call home thy unstay’d affections.

SIR WIL.  Where thou mak’st havoc.

LORD.  Riot, spoil, and waste.

SIR WIL.  Of what thy father left.

LORD.  And livest disgraced.

SCAR.  I’ll send you shorter to heaven than you came to the earth.  Do you catechise? do you catechise? [He draws, and strikes at them.

ILF.  Hold, hold! do you draw upon your uncle?

SCAR.  Pox of that lord! 
We’ll meet at th’Mitre, where we’ll sup down sorrow,
We are drunk to-night, and so we’ll be to-morrow.

[Exeunt.

LORD.  Why, now I see:  what I heard of, I believed not,
Your kinsman lives—­

SIR WIL.  Like to a swine.

LORD.  A perfect Epythite,[398] he feeds on draff,
And wallows in the mire, to make men laugh: 
I pity him.

SIR WIL.  No pity’s fit for him.

LORD.  Yet we’ll advise him.

SIR WIL.  He is my kinsman.

LORD.  Being in the pit, where many do fall in,
We will both comfort him and counsel him.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

A noise within, crying Follow, follow, follow! then enter
BUTLER, THOMAS and JOHN SCARBOROW, with money-bags.

THOM.  What shall we do now, butler?

BUT.  A man had better line a good handsome pair of gallows before his time, than be born to do these sucklings good, their mother’s milk not wrung out of their nose yet; they know no more how to behave themselves in this honest and needful calling of pursetaking, than I do to piece stockings.

WITHIN.  This way, this way, this way!

BOTH.  ’Sfoot, what shall we do now?

BUT.  See if they do not quake like a trembling asp-leaf, and look more miserable than one of the wicked elders pictured in the painted cloth.[399] Should they but come to the credit to be arraigned for their valour before a worshipful bench, their very looks would hang ’em, and they were indicted but for stealing of eggs.

WITHIN.  Follow, follow!  This way!  Follow!

THOM.  Butler.

JOHN.  Honest butler.

BUT.  Squat, heart, squat, creep me into these bushes, and lie me as close to the ground as you would do to a wench.

THOM.  How, good butler? show us how.

BUT.  By the moon, patroness of all pursetakers, who would be troubled with such changelings? squat, heart, squat.

THOM.  Thus, butler?