HUSBAND.
Up, sir, for here thou hast no inheritance left.

SON.
Oh, what will you do, father? I am your white boy.

HUSBAND.
Thou shalt be my red boy: take that.

[Strikes him.]

SON.
Oh, you hurt me, father.

HUSBAND.
My eldest beggar! thou shalt not live to ask an usurer bread,
to cry at a great mans gate, or follow, good your honour, by
a Couch; no, nor your brother; tis charity to brain you.

SON.
How shall I learn now my heads broke?

HUSBAND.
Bleed, bleed rather than beg, beg!

[Stabs him.]

Be not thy names disgrace:
Spurn thou thy fortunes first if they be base:
Come view thy second brother.--Fates,