Act 2 — SCENE V.

Mean. God save you, good Sir Thomas. Sir T. Save you, sir. Mean. Your welcome, Master Credulous. Cre. Come hither: Whither do you steal now? What! Where's your cloak? And. Going to foils e'en now, I put it off. Mean. To tell you truth, he hath lost it at doublets. Cre. With what a lie you'd flap me in the mouth! Thou hast the readiest invention To put off anything: thou hadst it from Thy mother, I'll be sworn: 't ne'er came from me. Mean. Peace, as you love yourself: if that the knight Should once perceive that he were given to gaming, 'Twould make him break the match off presently. Cre. Sir Thomas, here's my son; he may be yours, If you please to accept him. And. Father, don't Give me away for this: try me once more. Sir T. I like his person well enough, if that You'll make him an estate convenient. Mean. He hath more in him, sir, than he can show. He hath one fault: he's something covetous. Sir T. Marry, a very commendable fault. Cre. He is descended of no great high blood: He hath a house, although he came of none. His grandfather was a good livery-man, Paid scot and lot, old Timothy Credulous My father—though I say it, that should not. Sir T. I don't regard this thing that you call blood; 'Tis a mere name, a sound. Mean. Your worship speaks Just like yourself: methinks he's noble That's truly rich. Men may talk much of lines, Of arms, of blood, of race, of pedigree: Houses, descents and families; they are But empty noise, God knows; the idle breath Of that puff nothing, honour; formal words, Fit for the tongues of men that ne'er knew yet What stem, what gentry, nay, what virtue lies In great revenues. Sir T. Well and pithy said! You may work on my daughter, and prevail For that young stripling. 'Tis a foolish wench, An unexperienc'd girl; she'd like to have been Caught by Sir Robert Littleworth's son, if that I had not banish'd him my house; a youth Honest enough, I think, but that he's poor; Born to more name than fortune. Cre. He is safe For ever wooing. I have laid his father Out of harm's way; there's picking meat for him, And God knows where he's gone: he hath not been Seen this long while; he's, sure, turn'd vagabond; No sight of him since the arrest of his father. Andrew, address yourself to good Sir Thomas. And. 'Slid, father, you're the strangest man—I won't. Cre. As God shall mend me, thou'rt the proudest thing—— Thou can'st not compliment, but in caparisons. And. What's that to you? I'd fain say something yet, But that I can't, my losses do so vex me. Cre. Come, think not on't, my boy; I'll furnish thee. And. Sir, though—— Cre. Nay, to't, I say: help him, sir, help him. And. Sir, though without my cloak at this time— To-morrow I shall have one—give me leave Barely to say I am your servant, sir—— In hose and doublet. Cre. I'll do what you told me. Hear. Take heed: if that you do't, he'll guess you're given To idle spendings, and so cross the match. I will invite him as to myself. Cre. Do so. Hear. Sir Thomas, if you'll please so far to grace us, As be a guest to-morrow here, we shall Study hereafter to deserve the favour. Sir T. Although I do not use to eat at ordinaries; Yet to accept your courtesy, good friends, I'll break my wonted custom. Hear. You shall have it With a free heart. Sir T. If I thought otherwise, I do assure you, I'd not venture hither. [Exeunt.