Clown. I'll make you seek your fingers among the dogs, if you come to me. My fellow? You lousy companion, I scorn thee. 'Sfoot! is't come to this? Have I stood all this while to my mistress an honest, handsome, plain-dealing serving-creature, and she to marry a whoreson tityre tu tattere with never a good rag about him? [Draws his sword, and puts his cap on the point of it.] Stand thou to me, and be my friend; and since my mistress has forsaken me——

Enter Robert.

Rob. How now? what's the matter?

Clown. 'Twas well you came in good time.

Rob. Why, man?

Clown. I was going the wrong way.

Rob. But tell me one thing I apprehend not: why didst lay thy cap upon the sword's point?

Clown. Dost not thou know the reason of that? why, 'twas to save my belly: dost thou think I am so mad to cast myself away for e'er a woman of 'em all? I'll see 'em hanged first!

Rob. Come, Roger, will you go?

Clown. Well, since there is no remedy. O tears! be you my friend.

Rob. Nay, prythee, Roger, do not cry.

Clown. I cannot choose; nay, I will steep
Mine eyes in crying tears, and crying weep. [Exeunt.

FOOTNOTES:

[61] Passage and Novem were games at dice, and mumchance one at cards. See Steevens's note on a passage in "Love's Labour Lost," act v.

[62] [The jack.]

[63] By a bale a pair of dice only is meant.

[64] Stephen puns on the words bale and bail.

[65] It appears from an after-remark of Stephen's, that the game they were playing at was passage. Boreas may be a punning invocation to the north wind to assist him in his passage, or an allusion to the noise which arises at the same time in the bowling-alley.

[66] The trundletail was a species of dog in little estimation, I believe; it is mentioned in the "Lear" of Shakespeare. So Ursula to Quar. in "Bartholomew Fair:" "Do you sneer, you dog's-head, you trundletail!" But here the host only puns on the rolling or trundling the bowl at the game.

[67] The host was probably box-keeper or groom-porter; and it appears by an extract from the Monthly Mirror (quoted by Mr Gifford), that "if the caster throws three mains, or wins by throwing three times successively, he pays to the box-keeper, for the use of the house, a stipulated sum." It was probably these profits that the host directs them to look to; or that in our poet's time, or at a different game, a regular percentage might have been paid to the box-keeper on the money staked; or the host might have been banker, and staked against the players, as now at Rouge-et-Noir, and some other games, I believe.

[68] It is perhaps unnecessary to notice that Stephen puns between the quatre and trey on the dice, and the cater or caterer who buys the provisions, and the tray in which it is brought home.

[69] [i.e., bogie. See "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," iii. 330.]

[70] Stephen means, perhaps, that but one shilling was left of the forty his nephew had supplied him with.

[71] Fullam or Fulham was a well-known name for false dice. One of the cheats therefore sneeringly asks if one of the dice was Fulham, which of them was Putney, as Putney is on the Thames immediately opposite to Fulham.

[72] Robert puns on the word tester, which signifies the cover of a bed as well as a sixpence.

[73] There was formerly a prison at Moorgate as well as at Ludgate; though Stephen means, I conceive, that the next time she would see him would be when attracted to that spot to see the operation of ducking performed on her as a scold. The ditch, as appears from Stow, was called deep ditch; but whether celebrated for exhibitions of this nature or not, I cannot say. It is mentioned in the "First Part of Henry IV."

[74] That a wisp was in some way made use of for the punishment or exposure of a scold, is evident from the notes on a passage in the "Third Part of Henry VI.," ii. 2. From the verses quoted by Malone, it seems probable that the wearing of the wisp was in some way connected with, or made part of, the ceremony of the skimmington. [See "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," ii, 128.]

[75] The clown alludes to the then manner of choosing the king and queen on Twelfth Day, which was as follows. With the ingredients of which the cake or cakes, for there was probably one for each sex, were composed, a bean and pea were mixed up, and the two persons who were so fortunate as to find these in their respective portions were declared king and queen for the night. Thus in Herrick's "Hesperides"—

"Now, now, the mirth comes.
With the cake fall of plums,
Where bean's the king of the sport here;
Besides we must know,
The pea also
Must revel, as queen, in the court here."

This method of election, which we find referred to as early as Edward III., was common at the beginning of the sixteenth century to both our universities. The curious reader will collect further information on the subject from ["Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," 1870, i. 13 et seq.]

[76] The 4o reads nap; and I am not certain of the propriety of the alteration, as the Clown may allude to Stephen's dress.


ACT III., SCENE I.

Enter Alderman Brewen, Sir Godfrey Speedwell, Innocent Lambskin, and Mistress Jane.

Brew. Gentlemen, you're welcome; that once well-pronounced has a thousand echoes. Let it suffice, I have spoke it to the full. Here's your affairs, here's your merchandise—this is your prize. [Pointing to Jane.

If you can mix your names and gentle bloods
With the poor daughter of a citizen,
I make the passage free, to greet and court,
Traffic the mart of love, clap hands, and strike
The bargain through; she pleas'd, and I shall like.

Speed. 'Tis good ware, believe me, sir: I know that by mine own experience, for I have handled the like many times in my first wife's days. Ay, by knighthood! sometimes before I was married, too; therefore I know't by mine own experience.

Lamb. Well, sir, I know by observation as much as you do by experience; for I have known many gentlemen have taken up such ware as this is, but it has lain on their hands as long as they lived. This I have seen by observation.

Jane. [Aside.] I am like to have a couple of fair chapmen. If they were at my own dispose, I would willingly raffle them both at twelvepence a share. They would be good food for a new plantation. The one might mend his experience, and the other his observation very much.[77]

Speed. Sir, let me advise you; I see you want experience. Meddle no further in this case; 'twill be the more credit for your observation, for I find by my experience you are but shallow.

Lamb. But shallow, sir? Your experience is a little wide; you shall find I will be as deep in this case as yourself. My observation has been where your experience must wait at door; yet I will give you the fore-horse place, and I will be in the thills[78], because you are the elder tree, and I the young plant. Put on your experience, and I will observe.

Speed. Sweet virgin, to be prolix and tedious fits not experience. Short words and large deeds are best pleasing to women.

Jane. So, sir.

Speed. My name is Speedwell by my father's copy.

Jane. Then you never served for't, it seems[79].

Speed. Yes, sweet feminine! I have served for it too; for I found my nativity suited to my name. As my name is Speedwell, so have I sped well in divers actions.

Jane. It must needs be a fair and comely suit, then.

Lamb. You observe very well, sweet virgin; for his nativity is his doublet, which is the upper part of his suit; and his name is in's breeches, for that part, which is his name, he defiles many times.

Speed. Your observation is corrupt, sir. Let me show mine own tale. I say, sweet beauty, my name is Speedwell. My godfather, by his bounty (being an old soldier, and having served in the wars as far as Boulogne) therefore called my name Godfrey, a title of large renown.[80] My wealth and wit has added to those the paraphrase of knighthood, so that my name in the full longitude is called Sir Godfrey Speedwell, a name of good experience.

Jane. If every quality you have be as large in relation as your name, sir, I should imagine the best of them, rather than hear them reported.

Speed. You say well, sweet modesty; a good imagination is good, and shows your good experience.

Lamb. Nay, if names can do any good, I beseech you observe mine. My name is Lambskin, a thing both hot and harmless.

Jane. On, sir; I would not interrupt you, because you should be brief.

Lamb. My godfather, seeing in my face some notes of disposition, in my cradle did give me the title of Innocent,[81] which I have practised all my lifetime; and since my father's decease, my wealth has purchased me in the vanguard of my name the paraphrase of gentility, so that I am called Master Innocent Lambskin.

Jane. In good time: and what trade was your father, sir?

Lamb. My father was of an occupation before he was a tradesman; for, as I have observed in my father's and mother's report, they set up together in their youth. My father was a starch-maker, and my mother a laundress; so, being partners, they did occupy[82] long together before they were married; then was I born.

Jane. What, before your father was married?

Lamb. Truly a little after. I was the first-fruits, as they say. Then did my father change his copy, and set up a brewhouse.

Jane. Ay, then came your wealth in, sir.

Lamb. Your observation's good. I have carried the tallies[83] at my girdle seven year together with much delight and observation, for I did ever love to deal honestly in the nick.

Jane. A very innocent resolution.

Speed. Your experience may see his coarse education; but to the purpose, sweet female. I do love that face of yours.

Jane. Sir, if you love nothing but my face, I cannot sell it from the rest.

Lamb. You may see his slender observation. Sweet virgin, I do love your lower parts better than your face.

Speed. Sir, you do interrupt and thwart my love.

Lamb. Ay, sir, I am your rival, and I will thwart your love; for your love licks at the face, and my love shall be arsy-versy to yours.

Jane. I would desire no better wooing of so bad suitors.

Steph. Mistake me not, kind-heart.

Lamb. He calls you tooth-drawer by way of experience.[84]

Speed. In loving your face, I love all the rest of your body, as you shall find by experience.

Jane. Well, sir, you love me, then?

Speed. Let your experience make a trial.

Jane. No, sir, I'll believe you rather, and I thank you for't.

Lamb. I love you too, fair maid, double and treble, if it please you.

Jane. I thank you too, sir; I am so much beholding to you both, I am afraid I shall never requite it.

Speed. Requite one, sweet chastity, and let it be Sir Godfrey, with the correspondency of your love to him. I will maintain you like a lady; and it is brave, as I know by experience.

Lamb. I will maintain you like a gentlewoman: and that may be better maintenance than a lady's, as I have found by observation.

Speed. How dare you maintain that, sir?

Lamb. I dare maintain it with my purse, sir.

Speed. I dare cross it with my sword, sir.

[Lays his hand on his sword.

Lamb. If you dare cross my purse with your sword, sir, I'll lay an action of suspicion of felony to you; that's flat, sir.

Jane. Nay, pray you, gentlemen, do not quarrel till you know for what.

Brew. O, no quarrelling, I beseech you, gentlemen! the reputation of my house is soiled if any uncivil noise arise in't.

Lamb. Let him but shake his blade at me, and I'll throw down my purse and cry a rape; I scorn to kill him, but I'll hang his knighthood, I warrant him, if he offer assault and battery on my purse.

Brew. Nay, good sir, put up your sword.

Speed. You have confined him prisoner for ever: I hope your experience sees he's a harmless thing.

Enter George.

George. Sir, here's young Master Foster requests to speak with you.

Brew. Does he? Prythee, request him [in]. Gentlemen, please you taste the sweetness of my garden awhile, and let my daughter bear you company.

Speed. Where she is leader, there will be followers.

Jane. [Aside to her father.] You send me to the galleys, sir; pray you, redeem me as soon as you can: these are pretty things for mirth, but not for serious uses.

Brew. Prythee, be merry with them then awhile, if but for courtesy; thou hast wit enough: but take heed they quarrel not.

Jane. Nay, I dare take in hand to part 'em without any danger; but I beseech you, let me not be too long a prisoner. Will you walk, gentlemen.

Lamb. If it please you to place one of us for your conduct, otherwise this old coxcomb and I shall quarrel.

Jane. Sir Godfrey, you are the eldest; pray, lead the way.

Speed. With all my heart, sweet virgin. [Aside.] Ah! ah! this place promises well in the eyes of experience. Master Innocent, come you behind.

Lamb. Right, sir; but I put the gentlewoman before, and that is the thing I desire; and there your experience halts a little.

Speed. When I look back, sir, I see your nose behind.

Lamb. Then when I look back your nose stands here.

Speed. Sweet lady, follow experience.

Lamb. And let observation follow you. [Exeunt.

Brew. So: now request you Master Foster in, George; but hark! does that news hold his own still, that our ships are so near return, as laden on the Downs with such a wealthy fraughtage?

George. Yes, sir, and the next tide [do] purpose to
Put into the river. Master Foster, your partner,
Hath now receiv'd more such intelligence, with
Most o' the particulars of your merchandise;
Your venture is return'd with treble blessings.
Brew. Let him be ever blessed that sent [it]!
George, now call in the young man; and hark ye,
George, from him run to my partner, and request
him to me. This news, I'm sure, makes him a
joyful merchant; for my own part, I'll not forget
my vow. [Exit George.
This free addition heaven hath lent my state,
As freely back to heaven I'll dedicate.

Enter Robert Foster.

Ay, marry, sir, would this were a third suitor to
My daughter Jane! I should better like him than
All that's come yet. Now, Master Foster, are
Your father and yourself yet reconcil'd?
Rob. Sir, 'twas my business in your courteous tongue
To put the arbitration. I have again
(Discover'd by my mother) reliev'd my poor uncle;
Whose anger now so great is multiplied,
I dare not venture in the eye of either,
Till your persuasions [shall] with fair excuse
Have made my satisfaction.
Brew. Mother-o'-pearl! sir, 'tis a shrewd task;
Yet I'll do my best: your father hath so good news,
That I hope 'twill be a fair motive to't;
But women's tongues are dangerous stumbling-blocks
To lie in the way of peace.

Enter George.

Now, George?
George. Master Foster's coming, sir.
Rob. I beseech you, sir, let not me see him
Till you have conferr'd with him.

Brew. Well, well! [To George.] Ere your return to Master Foster, call my daughter forth of the garden. [Exit George.

And how does your uncle, Master Foster?
Rob. Sir, so well,
I'd be loth to anticipate the fame
That shortly will o'erspread the city
Of his good fortunes.
Brew. Why, I commend thee still;
He wants no good from thee—no, not in report:
'Tis well done, sir, and you show duty in't.

Enter Jane.

Now, daughter, where are your lusty suitors?

Jane. I was glad of my release, sir. Suitors call you 'em? I'd keep dish-water continually boiling, but I'd seethe such suitors: I have had much ado to keep 'em from bloodshed. I have seen for all the world a couple of cowardly curs quarrel in that fashion; as the one turns his head, the other snaps behind; and as he turns, his mouth recoils again: but I thank my pains for't, I have leagued with 'em for a week without any further intercourse.

Brew. Well, daughter, well; say a third trouble come; say in the person of young Master Foster here came a third suitor: how then?

Jane. Three's the woman's total arithmetic: indeed I would learn to number no farther, if there was a good account made of that.

Rob. I can instruct you so far, sweet beauty.

Jane. Take heed, sir; I have had ill-handsel to-day; perhaps 'tis not the fortunate season; you were best adjourn your journey to some happier time.

Rob. There shall no augurism fright my plain dealing: sweet, I fear no hours.

Jane. You'll not betray me with love-powder?

Rob. Nor with gunpowder neither, i' faith; yet I'll make you yield, if I can.

Brew. Go, get you together; your father will be coming; leave me with your suit to him, ply this yourself: and, Jane, use him kindly; he shall be his father's heir, I can tell you.

Jane. Never the more for that, father; if I use him kindly, it shall be for something I like in himself, and not for any good he borrows of his father. But come, sir, will you walk into the garden? for that's the field I have best fortune to overcome my suitors in.

Rob. I fear not that fate neither; but if I walk into your garden, I shall be tasting your sweets.

Jane. Taste sweetly, and welcome, sir; for there grows honesty, I can tell you.

Rob. I shall be plucking at your honesty.

Jane. By my honesty, but you shall not, sir: I'll hold you a handful of pennyroyal of that; i' faith, if you touch my honesty there, I'll make you eat sorrel to your supper, though I eat sullenwood[85] myself: no, sir, gather first time and sage, and such wholesome herbs, and honesty and heart's-ease will ripen the whilst.

Rob. You have fair roses, have you not.
Jane. Yes, sir, roses; but no gilliflowers.[86]
Brew. Go, go, and rest on Venus' violets:
Show her a dozen of bachelor's buttons, boy. [Exit Robert and Jane.
Here comes his father.

Enter Old Master Foster and his Wife.

Now, my kind partner, have we good news?
O. Fos. Sir, in a word take it: your full lading
And venture is return'd at sixtyfold increase.
Brew. Heaven take the glory! a wondrous blessing;
O, keep us strong against these flowing tides!
Man is too weak to bound himself below,
When such high waves do mount him.
O. Fos. O, sir, care and ambition seldom meet;
Let us be thrifty; titles will faster come,
Than we shall wish to have them.
Brew. Faith, I desire none.
O. Fos. Why, sir, if so you please, I'll ease your cares;
Shall I, like a full adventurer, now bid you
A certain ready sum for your half traffic.
Brew. Ay, and I'd make you gainer by it, too;
For then would I lay by my trouble, and begin
A work which I have promis'd unto heaven;
A house, a Domus Dei shall be rais'd,
Which shall to doomsday be established
For succour to the poor; for in all ages
There must be such.
O. Fos. Shall I bid your venture at a venture?
Brew. Pray you, do, sir.
O. Fos. Twenty thousand pounds?

Brew. Nay, then you underrate your own value much: will you make it thirty?

O. Fos. Shall I meet you half-way?

Brew. I meet you there, sir: for five-and-twenty thousand pounds the full venture's yours.

O. Fos. If you like my payment, 'tis the one-half in ready cash, the other seal'd for six months.

Brew. 'Tis merchant-like and fair. George, you observe this? Let the contents be drawn.

George. They shall, sir.
O. Fos. Your hazard is now all pass'd, sir.
Brew. I rejoice at it, sir, and shall not grudge your gains,
Though multiplied to thousands.
O. Fos. Believe me, sir, I account myself a large gainer by you.
Brew. Much good may it be to you, sir: but one thing
At this advantage of my love to you
Let me entreat.
O. Fos. What is it, sir?
Brew. Faith, my old suit—to reconcile those breaches
'Twixt your kind son and you: let not the love
He shows unto his uncle be any more a bar
To sunder your blessings and his duty.
O. Fos. I would you had enjoin'd me some great labour
For your own love's sake: but to that my vow
Stands fix'd against; I'm deaf, obdurate
To either of them.
Mrs Fos. Nay, sir, if you knew all,
You would not waste your words in so vain expense:
Since his last reformation, he has flown
Out again, and in my sight relieved
His uncle in the dicing-house; for which
Either he shall be no father to him,
Or no husband to me.

Brew. Well, sir, go call my daughter forth of the garden, and bid her bring her friend along with her: troth, sir, I must not leave you thus; I must needs make him your son again.

O. Fos. Sir, I have no such thing akin to me.

Enter Robert; Robert kneels to his father.

Brew. Look you, sir, know you this duty?
O. Fos. Not I, sir; he's a stranger to me.
Save your knee; I have no blessing for you.

Mrs Fos. Go, go to your uncle, sir; you know where to find him; he's at his old haunt; he wants more money by this time; but I think the conduit-pipe is stopped from whence it ran.

O. Fos. Did he not say he'd beg for you? you'd best make use of's bounty.

Brew. Nay, good sir.

O. Fos. Sir, if your daughter cast any eye of favour upon this unthrift, restrain't, he's a beggar. Mistress Jane, take heed what you do.

Mrs Fos. Ay, ay, be wise, Mistress Jane; do not you trust to spleen in time worn to pity,[87] you'll not find it so; therefore, good gentlewoman, take heed.

Brew. Nay, then, you are too impenetrable.

O. Fos. Sir, your money shall be ready, and your bills; other business I have none.

[To Rob.] For thee, beg, hang, die like a slave;
Such blessings ever thou from me shalt have.

[Exit Foster and his Wife.

Brew. Well, sir, I'll follow you. [To Robert.
And, sir, be comforted,
I will not leave, till I find some remorse;
Meantime let not want trouble you;
You shall not know it.
Rob. Sir, 'tis not want I fear, but want of blessing
My knee was bent for; for mine uncle's state,
Which now (I daresay) outweighs my father's far,
Confirms my hopes as rich as with my father's,
His love excepted only.
Brew. Thy uncle's state! how, for heaven's love?
Rob. By his late marriage to the wealthiest widow
That London had; who has not only made him
Lord of herself, but of her whole estate.
Brew. Mother-o'-pearl! I rejoice in't: this news
Is yet but young.
Rob. Fame will soon speak it loud, sir.
Brew. This may help happily to make all peace:
But how, have you parley'd with my daughter, sir?

Enter Jane.

Jane. Very well, father; we spake something, but did nothing at all: I requested him to pull me a Catherine pear, and had I not looked to him, he would have mistook and given me a poperin: and to requite his kindness I plucked him a rose, and had almost pricked my finger for my pains.

Brew. Well-said, wag; are there sparks kindled?
Quench 'em not for me: 'tis not a father's roughness,
Nor doubtful hazard of an uncle's kindness
Can me deter. I must to your father;
Where (as a chief affair) I'll once more move,
And (if I can) return him back to love. [Exeunt.

Enter Doctor and Stephen's Wife.

Wife. Sir, you see I have made a speedy choice
And as swift a marriage: be it as it will,
I like the man: if his qualities afflict me,
I shall be happy in't.
Doc. I must not distaste what I have help'd to make;
'Tis I that join'd you.
Wife. A good bargain, I hope.

Enter Clown.

Roger, where's your master?

Clown. The good man of the house is within, forsooth.

Wife. Not your master, sir?

Clown. 'Tis hard of digestion. Yes, my master is within. He masters you; therefore I must be content. You have longed for crosses a good while, and now you are like to be farther off them than e'er you were; for I'm afraid your good husband will leave you ne'er a cross i' th' house to bless you with.

Wife. Well, sir, I shall be bless'd in't. But where is he?

Clown. Where he has mistaken the place a little, being his wedding-day; he is in nomine, when he should be in re.

Wife. And where's that?

Clown. In your counting-house: if he were a kind husband, he would have been in another counting-house by this time: he's tumbling over all his money-bags yonder; you shall hear of him in the bowling-alley again.

Wife. Why, sir, all is his, and at his dispose; Who shall dare to thwart him?

Enter Stephen with bills and bonds.

Clown. Look where he comes.
Wife. How now, sweetheart? what hast thou there?
Steph. I find much debts belonging to you, sweet;
And my care must be now to fetch them in.
Wife. Ha, ha! prythee, do not mistake thyself,
Nor my true purpose; I did not wed to thrall,
Or bind thy large expense, but rather to add
A plenty to that liberty. I thought by this,
Thou wouldst have stuff'd thy pockets full of gold,
And thrown it at a hazard; made ducks and drakes,
And baited fishes with thy silver flies;
Lost, and fetch'd more: why, this had been my joy!
Perhaps at length thou wouldst have wasted my store:
Why, this had been a blessing too good for me.
Steph. Content thee, sweet, those days are gone—
Ay, even from my memory;
I have forgot that e'er I had such follies,
And I'll not call 'em back: my cares[88] are bent
To keep your state, and give you all content.
Roger, go, call your fellow-servants up to me,
And to my chamber bring all books of debt;
I will o'erlook and cast up all accounts,
That I may know the weight of all my cares,
And once a year give up my stewardship.

Clown. [Aside to the Wife.] Now you may see what hasty matching is. You had thought to have been vexed, and now you cannot; you have married a husband, that (sir reverence of the title) now being my master-in-law, I do think he'll prove the miserablest covetous rascal that ever beat beggar from his gate. But 'tis no matter. Time was when you were fairly offered, if you would have took it. You might have had other matches, i' faith, if it had pleased you; and those that would have crossed you. I would have sold away all that ever you had had; have kept two or three whores at livery under your nose; have turned you out in your smock, and have used you like a woman: whereas now, if you'd hang yourself, you can have none of these blessings. But 'tis well enough—now you must take what follows.

Wife. I'm to new[89] seek for crosses: the hopes I meant
Turn to despair, and smother in content.

Enter Robert.

Steph. O nephew, are you come! the welcom'st wish
That my heart has; this is my kinsman, sweet.
Wife. Let him be largely texted in your love,
That all the city may read it fairly;
You cannot remember me, and him forget:
We were alike to you in poverty.
Steph. I should have begg'd that bounty of your love,
Though you had scanted me to have given't him;
For we are one: I an uncle-nephew,
He a nephew-uncle. But, my sweet self,
My slow request you have anticipated
With proffer'd kindness; and I thank you for it.
But how, kind cousin, does your father use you?
Is your name found again within his books?
Can he read son there?
Rob. 'Tis now blotted quite:
For by the violent instigation
Of my cruel stepmother, his vows and oaths
Are stamp'd against me, ne'er to acknowledge me,
Never to call or bless me as a child;
But in his brow, his bounty and behaviour
I read it all most plainly.
Steph. Cousin, grieve
Not at it; that father, lost at home, you shall
Find here; and with the loss of his inheritance,
You meet another amply proffer'd you;
Be my adopted son, no more my kinsman:
[To his Wife.] So that this borrowed bounty do not stray
From your consent.
Wife. Call it not borrow'd, sir; 'tis all your own;
Here 'fore this reverend man I make it known,
Thou art our child as free by adoption,
As deriv'd from us by conception,
Birth, and propinquity; inheritor
To our full substance.
Rob. You were born
To bless us both; my knee shall practise
A son's duty even beneath [a] son's;
Giving you all the comely dues of parents; yet
Not forgetting my duty to my father:
Where'er I meet him, he shall have my knee,
Although his blessing ne'er return to me.
Steph. Come then, my dearest son, I'll now give thee
A taste of my love to thee: be thou my deputy,
The factor and disposer of my business;
Keep my accounts, and order my affairs;
They must be all your own: for you, dear sweet,
Be merry, take your pleasure at home—abroad;
Visit your neighbours—aught that may seem good
To your own will; down to the country ride;
For cares and troubles, lay them all aside,
And I will take them up: it's fit that weight
Should now lie all on me: take thou the height
Of quiet and content: let nothing grieve thee.
I brought thee nothing else, and that I'll give thee.

[Exit Stephen and Robert.