Fran. Why do you deal thus with him? 'tis unnobly.
Unc. Peace Cousin peace, you are too tender of him, he must be dealt thus with, he must be cured thus, the violence of his disease Francisco, must not be jested with, 'tis grown infectious, and now strong Corrosives must cure him.
Lance. H'as had a stinger, has eaten off his clothes, the next his skin comes.
Unc. And let it search him to the bones, 'tis better, 'twill make him feel it.
Lance. Where be his noble friends now? will his fantastical opinions cloath him, or the learned Art of having nothing feed him?
Unc. It must needs greedily, for all his friends have flung him off, he is naked, and where to skin himself again, if I know, or can devise how he should get himself lodging, his Spirit must be bowed, and now we have him, have him at that we hoped for.
Lance. Next time we meet him cracking of nuts, with half a cloak about him, for all means are cut off, or borrowing sixpence, to shew his bounty in the pottage Ordinary?
Fran. Which way went he?
Lance. Pox, why should you ask after him, you have been trimm'd already, let him take his fortune, [he] spun it out himself, Sir, there's no pitie.
Unc. Besides some good to you now, from this miserie.