THOM.  How now, butler, what’s the meaning of this?

BUT.  Your brother means to lame as many as he can, that when he is a beggar himself, he may live with them in the hospital.  His wife sent me out of Yorkshire to tell him that God had blessed him with two sons; he bids a plague of them, a vengeance of her, crosses me o’er the pate, and sends me to the surgeon’s to seek salve:  I looked, at least he should have given me a brace of angels for my pains.

THOM.  Thou hast not lost all thy longing; I am sure he hath given thee a cracked crown!

BUT.  A plague on his fingers!  I cannot tell, he is your brother and my master; I would be loth to prophesy of him; but whosoe’er doth curse his children being infants, ban his wife lying in childbed, and beats his man brings him news of it, they may be born rich, but they shall live slaves, be knaves, and die beggars.

SIS.  Did he do so?

BUT.  Guess you? he bid a plague of them, a vengeance on her, and sent me to the surgeon’s.

SIS.  Why then I see there is no hope of him;
Some husbands are respectless of their wives,
During the time that they are issueless;
But none with infants bless’d can nourish hate,
But love the mother for the children’s sake.

JOHN.  But he that is given over unto sin,
Leproused therewith without, and so within—­
O butler, we were issue to one father!

BUT.  And he was an honest gentleman.

JOHN.  Whose hopes were better than the son he left
Should set so soon unto his house’s shame. 
He lives in taverns, spending of his wealth,
And here his brothers and distressed sister,
Not having any means to help us with.

THOM.  Not a Scots baubee (by this hand) to bless us with.

JOHN.  And not content to riot out his own,
But he detains our portions, suffers us
In this strange air, open to every wrack,
Whilst he in riot swims to be in lack.

BUT.  The more’s the pity.

SIS.  I know not what in course to take me to;
Honestly I fain would live, what shall I do?

BUT.  Sooth, I’ll tell you; your brother hath hurt us; we three will hurt you, and then go all to a ’spital together.

SIS.  Jest not at her whose burden is too grievous,
But rather lend a means how to relieve us.

BUT.  Well, I do pity you, and the rather because you say you would fain live honest, and want means for it; for I can tell you ’tis as strange here to see a maid fair, poor, and honest, as to see a collier with a clean face.  Maids here do live (especially without maintenance) Like mice going to a trap, They nibble long, at last they get a clap.  Your father was my good benefactor, and gave me a house whilst I live to put my head in:  I would be loth then to see his only daughter, for want of means, turn punk.  I have a drift to keep you honest, have you a care to keep yourself so:  yet you shall not know of it, for women’s tongues are like sieves, they will hold nothing they have power to vent.  You two will further me?