honest and faithful, and will you run away from 'em, betray your self,
and your poor Tribe to misery; mortgage all us, like old Cloaks; where
will you hunt next? you had a thousand Acres, fair and open: The
Kings-Bench is enclos'd, there's no good riding, the Counter is full
of thorns and brakes, take heed Sir, and boggs, you'l quickly find what
broth they're made of.

_Val._ Y'are short and pithy.

_Lance._ They say y'are a fine Gentleman, and of excellent
judgement, they report you have a wit; keep your self out o'th' Rain,
and take your Cloak with you, which by interpretation is your State,
Sir, or I shall think your fame belied you, you have money, and may
have means.

_Val._ I prethee leave prating, does my good lye within thy brain
to further, or my undoing in thy pity? go, go, get you home, there
whistle to your Horses, and let them edifie; away, sow Hemp to hang your
selves withal: what am I to you, or you to me; am I your Landlord,
puppies?

_Unc._ This is uncivil.

_Val._ More unmerciful you, to vex me with these Bacon
Broth and Puddings, they are the walking shapes of all my
sorrows.

_3 Tenants._ Your Fathers Worship would have used us better.

_Val._ My Fathers Worship was a Fool.