In my seed five are made miserable besides my self: my riot
is now my brothers jailer, my wives sighing, my three boys
penury, and mine own confusion.

[Tears his hair.]

Why sit my hairs upon my cursed head?
Will not this poison scatter them? oh my brother's
In execution among devils that
Stretch him and make him give. And I in want,
Not able for to live, nor to redeem him.
Divines and dying men may talk of hell,
But in my heart her several torments dwell.
Slavery and misery! Who in this case
Would not take up money upon his soul,
Pawn his salvation, live at interest?
I, that did ever in abundance dwell,
For me to want, exceeds the throws of hell.

[Enter his little son with a top and a scourge.]

SON.
What, ail you father? are you not well? I cannot scourge my
top as long as you stand so: you take up all the room with
your wide legs. Puh, you cannot make me afeard with this; I
fear no vizards, nor bugbears.

[Husband takes up the child by the skirts of his long coat in
one hand and draws his dagger with th' other.]