THOM.  And he shall do it, brother, though we have waited at his lodging longer than a tailor’s bill on a young knight for an old reckoning, without speaking with him.  Here we know he is, and we will call him to parley.

JOHN.  Yet let us do’t in mild and gentle terms;
Fair words perhaps may sooner draw our own
Than rougher course,[390] by which is mischief grown.

    Enter DRAWER.

DRAW.  Anon, anon.  Look down into the Dolphin[391] there.

THOM.  Here comes a drawer, we will question him.  Do you hear, my friend? is not Master Scarborow here?

DRAW.  Here, sir! what a jest is that! where should he be else?  I would have you well know my master hopes to grow rich,[392] before he leave him.

JOHN.  How long hath he continued here, since he came hither?

DRAW.  Faith, sir, not so long as Noah’s flood, yet long enough to have drowned up the livings of three knights, as knights go nowadays—­some month, or thereabouts.

JOHN.  Time ill-consum’d to ruinate our house;
But what are they that keep him company?

DRAW.  Pitch, pitch; but I must not say so; but, for your further satisfaction, did you ever see a young whelp and a lion play together?

JOHN.  Yes.

DRAW.  Such is Master Scarborow’s company.[393]
                                  [Within, Oliver! 
Anon, anon, look down to the Pomegranate[394] there.

THOM.  I prythee, say here’s them would speak with him.

DRAW.  I’ll do your message.  Anon, anon, there.
          
                                [Exit.

JOHN.  This fool speaks wiser than he is aware. 
Young heirs left in this town, where sin’s so rank,
And prodigals gape to grow fat by them,
Are like young whelps thrown in the lions’ den,
Who play with them awhile, at length devour them.

Enter SCARBOROW.

SCAR.  Who’s there would speak with me?

JOHN.  Your brothers, who are glad to see you well.

SCAR.  Well.

JOHN.  ’Tis not your riot, that we hear you use
With such as waste their goods, as tire[395] the world
With a continual spending, nor that you keep
The company of a most leprous rout,
Consumes your body’s wealth, infects your name
With such plague sores that, had you reason’s eye,
’Twould make you sick to see you visit them—­
Hath drawn us, but our wants to crave the due
Our father gave, and yet remains with you.

THOM.  Our birthright, good brother; this town craves maintenance; silk stockings must be had, and we would be loth our heritage should be arraigned at the vintner’s bar, and so condemned to the vintner’s box.  Though, while you did keep house, we had some belly timber at your table or so; yet we would have you think we are your brothers, yet no Esaus, to sell our patrimony for porridge.

SCAR.  So, so; what hath your coming else?