FUL. What stir is this? let's step but out the way,
And hear the utmost what these people say.

O. ART. Thou art a knave, although thou be my son.
Have I with care and trouble brought thee up,
To be a staff and comfort to my age,
A pillar to support me, and a crutch
To lean on in my second infancy,
And dost thou use me thus? Thou art a knave.

O. LUS. A knave, ay, marry, and an arrant knave;
And, sirrah, by old Master Arthur's leave,
Though I be weak and old, I'll prove thee one.

Y. ART. Sir, though it be my father's pleasure thus
To wrong me with the scorned name of knave,
I will not have you so familiar,
Nor so presume upon my patience.

O LUS. Speak, Master Arthur, is he not a knave?

O. ART. I say he is a knave.

O. LUS. Then so say I.

Y. ART. My father may command my patience;
But you, sir, that are but my father-in-law,
Shall not so mock my reputation.
Sir, you shall find I am an honest man.