Wild. I beseech ye, Uncle, hear me.
Sir Tim. No.
Wild. Dear Uncle—
Sir Tim. No.
Wild. You will be mortify’d—
Sir Tim. No.
Wild. At least hear me out, Sir.
Sir Tim. No, I have heard you out too often, Sir, till you have talkt me out of many a fair Thousand; have had ye out of all the Bayliffs, Serjeants, and Constables Clutches about Town, Sir; have brought you out of all the Surgeons, Apothecaries, and pocky Doctors Hands, that ever pretended to cure incurable Diseases; and have crost ye out of the Books of all the Mercers, Silk-men, Exchange-men, Taylors, Shoemakers, and Sempstresses; with all the rest of the unconscionable City-tribe of the long Bill, that had but Faith enough to trust, and thought me Fool enough to pay.
Sir Char. But, Sir, consider, he’s your own Flesh and Blood.
Sir Tim. That’s more than I’ll swear.