Val. More unmerciful you, to vex me with these Bacon Broth and Puddings, they are the walking shapes of all my sorrows.
3 Tenants. Your Fathers Worship would have used us better.
Val. My Fathers Worship was a Fool.
Lance. Hey, hey boys, old Valentine i'faith, the old boy still.
Unc. Fie Cousin.
Val. I mean besotted to his state, he had never left me the misery of so much means else, which till I sold, was a meer meagrim to me: If you will talk, turn out these Tenants, they are as killing to my nature Uncle, as water to a Feaver.
Lance. We will go, but it is like Rams, to come again the stronger, and you shall keep your state.
Val. Thou lyest, I will not.
Lance. Sweet Sir, thou lyest, thou shalt, and so good morrow. [Exeunt Tenants.
Val. This was my man, and of a noble breeding: now to your business Uncle.