Ruin. Sir, no Dish-porridgment, we have brought home
As good men as ye.
O. K. Out, a North-Brittain Constable, that tongue
Will publish all, it speaks so broad already;
Are you the Gentleman.
Lady. The unfortunate one, Sir,
That fell into the power of merciless Thieves,
Whereof this fellow, whom I'd call your kinsman,
As little as I could (for the fair reverence
I owe to fame and years) was the prime villain.
O.K. A wicked prime.
Wit. Nay, not so loud, sweet father.
Lad. The rest are fled, but I shall meet with 'em,
Hang one of 'em I will certain, I ha' swore it,
And 'twas my luck to light upon this first.
O.K. A Cambridge man for this? these your degrees, Sir?
Nine years at University for this fellowship?
Wit. Take your voice lower, dear Sir.
O.K. What's your loss, Sir?
Lady. That which offends me to repeat, the Money's whole, Sir,
'Tis i'th' Constables hands there, a seal'd hundred,
But I will not receive it.