[Wife. I’faith, it’s a fine-spoken child.]

Jasp. Mother, though you forget a parent’s love
I must preserve the duty of a child.
I ran not from my master, nor return
To have your stock maintain my idleness.

[Wife. Ungracious child, I warrant him; hark, how he chops logic with his mother!—Thou hadst best tell her she lies; do, tell her she lies.

Cit. If he were my son, I would hang him up by the heels, and flay him, and salt him, whoreson haltersack.]

Jasp. My coming only is to beg your love,
Which I must ever, though I never gain it;
And, howsoever you esteem of me,
There is no drop of blood hid in these veins
But, I remember well, belongs to you
That brought me forth, and would be glad for you
To rip them all again, and let it out.

Mist. Mer. I’faith, I had sorrow enough for thee, God knows; but I’ll hamper thee well enough. Get thee in, thou vagabond, get thee in, and learn of thy brother Michael.

[Exeunt Jasper and Michael.

Mer. [Singing within.]

Mist. Mer. Hark, my husband! he’s singing and hoiting; and I’m fain to cark and care, and all little enough.—Husband!
Charles! Charles Merrythought!

Enter Merrythought.

Mer. [Sings.]

Mist. Mer. If you would consider your state, you would have little list to sing, i-wis.

Mer. It should never be considered, while it were an estate, if I thought it would spoil my singing.

Mist. Mer. But how wilt thou do, Charles? thou art an old man, and thou canst not work, and thou hast not forty shillings left, and thou eatest good meat, and drinkest good drink, and laughest.

Mer. And will do.

Mist. Mer. But how wilt thou come by it, Charles?

Mer. How! why, how have I done hitherto these forty years?
I never came into my dining room, but, at eleven and six o’clock, I found excellent meat and drink o’ the table; my clothes were never worn out, but next morning a tailor brought me a new suit: and without question it will be so ever; use makes perfectness. If all should fail, it is but a little straining myself extraordinary, and laugh myself to death.

[Wife. It’s a foolish old man this; is not he, George?

Cit. Yes, cony.

Wife. Give me a penny i’ the purse while I live, George.

Cit. Ay, by lady, cony, hold thee there.]