My childrens blood
Shall spin into your faces, you shall see
How Confidently we scorn beggery!

[Exit with his Son.]


SCENE V. A bed-room in the same.

[Enter a maid with a child in her arms, the mother by her a
step.]


MAID.
Sleep, sweet babe; sorrow makes thy mother sleep:
It bodes small good when heaviness falls so deep.
Hush, pretty boy, thy hopes might have been better.
Tis lost at Dice what ancient honour won:
Hard when the father plays away the son!
No thing but misery serves in this house.
Ruin and desolation, oh!

[Enter husband with the boy bleeding.]

HUSBAND.
Whore, give me that boy.

[Strives with her for the child.]

MAID.