Brew. Mother-o'-pearl![42] Woman, shew your husband the cause.
Mrs Fos. Had he been a husband, sir, I had no cause.
[So] to complain: I threw down at his feet
The subjection of his whole estate: he did not
Marry me for love's sake, nor for pity;
But love to that I had; he now neglects
The love he had before: a prodigal
Is suffer'd to lay waste those worldly blessings,
Which I enclosed long,[43] intending for good uses.
O. Fos. That's my son.
Mrs Fos. Ay, thou know'st it well enough; He's the conduit-pipe
That throws it forth into the common shore.
O. Fos. And th' other's my brother.
Mrs Fos. You may well shame,
As I do grieve the kindred; but I'd make
The one a stranger, the other a servant—
No son nor brother; for they deserve neither
Of those offices.
O. Fos. Why, did I ever cherish him! have not I threaten'd him
With disinheritance for this disorder?
Mrs Fos. Why do you not perform it?
O. Fos. The other's in Ludgate.
Mrs Fos. No; he's in my house, approving to my face
The charitable office of his kind nephew
Who with his pilfering purloin'd from me,
Has set him at liberty; if this may be suffer'd,
I'll have no eyes to see.