Clif. I own it.
Wal. Right, I know it; you tell truth. I like you for’t.
Clif. But when I heard it said
That Master Walter was a worthy man,
Whose word would pass on ’change soon as his bond;
A liberal man—for schemes of public good
That sets down tens, where others units write;
A charitable man—the good he does,
That’s told of, not the half; I never more
Could see the hunch on Master Walter’s back!
Wal. You would not flatter a poor citizen?
Clif. Indeed, I flatter not!
Wal. I like your face—
A frank and honest one! Your frame’s well knit,
Proportioned, shaped!
Clif. Good sir!
Wal. Your name is Clifford—
Sir Thomas Clifford. Humph! You’re not the heir
Direct to the fair baronetcy? He
That was, was drowned abroad. Am I not right?
Your cousin, was’t not?—so succeeded you
To rank and wealth, your birth ne’er promised you.
Clif. I see you know my history.
Wal. I do.
You’re lucky who conjoin the benefits
Of penury and abundance; for I know
Your father was a man of slender means.
You do not blush, I see. That’s right! Why should you?
What merit to be dropped on fortune’s hill?
The honour is to mount it. You’d have done it;
For you were trained to knowledge, industry,
Frugality, and honesty,—the sinews
That surest help the climber to the top,
And keep him there. I have a clerk, Sir Thomas,
Once served your father; there’s the riddle for you.
Humph! I may thank you for my life to-day.