Lord. Yes, Sir, you have offended me, and Nature has offended me; you are his Brother, and that’s an Offence to me.
Char. Is that a Fault, my Lord?
Lord. Yes, Sir, a great one, and I’ll have it so; and let me tell you, you nor your Sister (for that reason) must expect no more Friendship at my Hands, than from those that are absolute Strangers to you: Your Brother has refus’d you your Portions, and I’ll have as little Mercy As he, and so farewel to you—But where’s the Messenger that brought the Letter?
Page. Without, my Lord.
[Ex. Lord and Page.
Trust. Here’s like to be a hopeful end of a noble Family. My Comfort is, I shall die with Grief, and not see the last of ye. [Weeps.
Char. No, Trusty, I have not been so meanly educated, but I know how to live, and like a Gentleman: All that afflicts me in this Misfortune, is my dear Sister Phillis, she’s young; and to be left poor in this loose Town, will ruin her for ever.
Trust. Sir, I think we were best to marry her out of the way.
Char. Marry her! To whom? who is’t regards poor Virtue?
Trust. For that let me alone; and if you dare trust her to my Management, I’ll undertake to marry her to a Man of 2000 pounds a Year; and if it fail, I’ll be sure to keep her Honour safe.