Oh, you have kild the towardest hope of all our university:
Wherefore, without repentance and ameds, expect pondrous and
sudden Judgements to fall grievously upon you. Your brother,
a man who profited in his divine Imployments, might have made
ten thousand souls fit for heaven, now by your careless courses
cast in prison, which you must answer for, and assure your
spirit it will come home at length.

HUSBAND.
Oh god! oh!

MASTER.
Wise men think ill of you, others speak ill of you, no man
loves you, nay, even those whom honesty condemns, condemn
you: and take this from the vertuous affection I bear your
brother; never look for prosperous hour, good thought, quiet
sleeps, contented walks, nor any thing that makes man perfect
til you redeem him. What is your answer? how will you bestow
him? upon desperate misery, or better hopes? I suffer, till I
have your answer.

HUSBAND.
Sir, you have much wrought with me. I feel you in my soul,
you are your arts master. I never had sense til now; your
syllables have cleft me. Both for your words and pains I
thank you: I cannot but acknowledge grievous wrongs done to
my brother, mighty, mighty, mighty wrongs.--Within there!

[Enter a servingman.]