Young Lo. What dost thou mean to do with thy Children Savil?

Sav. My eldest boy is half a Rogue already, he was born bursten, and your worship knows, that is a pretty step to mens compassions.  My youngest boy I purpose Sir to bind for ten years to a G[ao]ler, to draw under him, that he may shew us mercy in his function.

Young Lo. Your family is quartered with discretion:  you are resolved to Cant then:  where Savil shall your scene lie?

Sav. Beggers must be no chusers.  In every place (I take it) but the stocks.

Young Lo. This is your drinking, and your whoring Savil, I told you of it, but your heart was hardened.

Sav. ’Tis true, you were the first that told me of it I do remember yet in tears, you told me you would have Whores, and in that passion Sir, you broke out thus; Thou miserable man, repent, and brew three Strikes more in a Hogshead.  ’Tis noon e’re we be drunk now, and the time can tarry for no man.

Young Lo. Y’are grown a bitter Gentleman.  I see misery can clear your head better than Mustard, I’le be a sutor for your Keys again Sir.

Sav. Will you but be so gracious to me Sir?  I shall be bound.

Young Lo. You shall Sir To your bunch again, or I’le miss foully.

    Enter Morecraft.

Mor. Save you Gentleman, save you.

Young Lo. Now Polecat, what young Rabets nest have you to draw?

Mor. Come, prethee be familiar Knight.

Young Lo. Away Fox, I’le send for Terriers for you.

Mor. Thou art wide yet:  I’le keep thee companie.

Young Lo. I am about some business; Indentures,
If ye follow me I’le beat you:  take heed,
A[s] I live I’le cancel your Coxcomb.

Mor. Thou art cozen’d now, I am no usurer:  What poor fellow’s this?

Savil. I am poor indeed Sir.

Mor. Give him mony Knight.

Young Lo. Do you begin the offering.

Mor. There poor fellow, here’s an Angel for thee.

Young Lo. Art thou in earnest Morecraft?

Mor. Yes faith Knight, I’le follow thy example:  thou hadst land and thousands, thou spendst, and flungst away, and yet it flows in double:  I purchased, wrung, and wierdraw’d, for my wealth, lost, and was cozen’d:  for which I make a vow, to trie all the waies above ground, but I’le find a constant means to riches without curses.

Young Lo. I am glad of your conversion Master Morecraft:  Y’are in a fair course, pray pursue it still.

Mor. Come, we are all gallants now, I’le keep thee company; Here honest fellow, for this Gentlemans sake, there’s two Angels more for thee.

Savil. God quite you Sir, and keep you long in this mind.