Phil. This your son, Franio?
Fra. My ungratious, my disobedient,
My unnatural, my rebel son (my Lord.)
Bust. Fie, your hopper runs over, Miller.
Fra. This villain (of my own flesh and blood) was accessary
To the stealing of my daughter.
Bust. Oh Mountain,
Shalt thou call a molehill a scab upon the face
Of the earth? though a man be a thief, shall a Miller call
Him so? Oh egregious!
Jul. Remember Sirrha, who you speak before.
Bust. I speak before a Miller.
A thief in grain; for he steals corn: He that steals
A wench, is a true man to him.
Phil. Can you prove that? you may help another cause
that was in pleading.
Bust. I'll prove it strongly.
He that steals corn, steals the bread of the Common-wealth;
He that steals a wench, steals but the flesh.
Phil. And how is the bread stealing more criminal then the flesh?