Dor. You have a Son, Sir.
Seb. Where, what is he?
Who is he like?
Dor. Your self.
Seb. Thou lyest, thou hast marr'd him,
Thou, and thy prayer books: I do disclaim him:
Did not I take him singing yesternight
A godly Ballad, to a godly tune too,
And had a Catechism in's pocket, Damsel,
One of your dear disciples, I perceive it?
When did he ride abroad since he came over?
What Tavern has he us'd to? what things done
That shews a man, and mettle? when was my house
At such a shame before, to creep to bed
At ten a clock, and twelve, for want of company?
No singing, nor no dancing, nor no drinking?
Thou think'st not of these scandals; when, and where
Has he but shew'd his sword of late?
Dor. Despair not
I do beseech you, Sir, nor tempt your weakness,
For if you like it so, I can assure you
He is the same man still.
Seb. Would thou wert ashes
On that condition; but believe it Gossip
You shall know you have wrong'd.
Dor. You never, Sir,
So well I know my duty: and for Heaven sake,
Take but this counsel with ye ere you marry,
You were wont to hear me: take him, and confess him,
Search him to the quick, and if you find him false,
Do as you please; a Mothers name I honour.
Seb. He is lost, and spoil'd, I am resolv'd my roof
Shall never harbour him: and for you Minion
I'le keep you close enough, lest you break loose,
And do more mischief; get ye in: who waits? [Exit Dor.
Enter Servant.
Ser. Do you call, Sir?