Non. Begone, and put off your livery, sirrah!—You shall not stay a minute in my service.
Tob. I beseech your good worship, be good to me; 'twas the first fault I ever committed in this kind. I have three poor children by my wife; and if you leave me to the wide world, with a new charge upon myself—
Non. Begone! I will not hear a word.
Tob. If I must go, I'll not go alone: Ambrose Tinis, the cook, is as bad as I am.
Non. I think you'll make me mad. Call the rascal hither! I must account with him on another score, now I think on't.
Enter AMBROSE TINIS.
Non. Sirrah, what made you send a pheasant with one wing to the table yesterday?
Amb. I beseech your worship to pardon me; I longed for't.
Isa. I feared as much.
Amb. And I beseech your worship let me have a boy, to help me in the kitchen; for I find myself unable to go through with the work. Besides, the doctor has warned me of stooping to the fire, for fear of a mischance.