Tut. Why look you Pupil,
There are for the recovery of your honor
Degrees of Medicines; for a tweak by the Nose
A man's to travel but six months, then blow it
And all is well again: the Bastinado
Requires a longer time, a year or two,
And then 'tis buried: I grant you have been baffl'd,
'Tis but a journey of some thirty years
And it will be forgotten.
Onos. Think you so?
Tut. Assuredly.
Unc. He may make a shorter cut,
But hang or drown himself, and on my life
'Twill no more trouble him.
Onos. I could ne'r endure
Or Hemp or Water, they are dangerous tools
For youth to deal with: I will rather follow
My Tutors counsel.
Tut. Do so.
Onos. And put in
For my security, that I'll not return
In thirty years, my whole 'state to my Uncle.
Unc. That I like well of.
On. Still provided Uncle,
That at my coming home you will allow me
To be of age, that I may call to account
This Page that hath abus'd me.
U[n]c. 'Tis a match.