Merc. When saw you Valentine?
Uncle. Not since the Horse-race, he's taken up with those that woo the Widow.
Mer. How can he live by snatches from such people? he bore a worthy mind.
Uncle. Alas, he's sunk, his means are gone, he wants, and which is worse,
Takes a delight in doing so.
Mer. That's strange.
Unc. Runs Lunatick, if you but talk of states, he cannot be brought (now he has spent his own) to think there's inheritance, or means, but all a common riches, all men bound to be his Bailiffs.
Mer. This is something dangerous.
Uncle. No Gentleman that has estate to use it in keeping house, or followers, for those wayes he cries against, for Eating sins, dull Surfeits, cramming of Serving-men, mustering of Beggars, maintaining Hospitals for Kites, and Curs, grounding their fat faiths upon old Country proverbs, God bless the Founders; these he would have ventured into more manly uses, Wit, and carriage, and never thinks of state, or means, the ground-works: holding it monstrous, men should feed their bodies, and starve their understandings.
Mer. That's most certain.
Uncle. Yes, if he could stay there.