Mr. Fruit. Three Attorneys.
Mrs. Fruit. Two Scriveners.
Mr. Fruit. And an Exciseman.
Esop. The deuce o'the Service; why, I thought they had been all in the Army.
Mrs. Fruit. Not one, Sir.
Esop. No, so it seems, by my Troth: Ten Sons that serve their Country, quotha! Monks, Attorneys, Scriveners and Excisemen, serve their Country with a Vengeance: you deserve to be rewarded, truly; you deserve to be hang'd, you wicked People, you. Get you gone out of my sight: I never was so angry in my Life.
[Exit Esop.
Mr. Fruit. to his Wife.] So; who's in the right now, you or I? I told you what wou'd come on't; you must be always a Breeding, and Breeding, and the King wou'd take Care of 'em, and the Queen wou'd take Care of 'em: And always some Pretence or other there was. But now we have got a great Kennel of Whelps, and the Devil will take Care of 'em, for aught I see. For your Sons are all Rogues, and your Daughters are all Whores; you know they are.
Mrs. Fruit. What, you are a grudging of your Pains now, you lazy, sluggish, flegmatick Drone. You have a Mind to die of a Lethargy, have you? but I'll raise your Spirits for you, I will so. Get you gone home, go; go home, you idle Sot, you; I'll raise your Spirits for you.
[Exit, pushing him before her.