Steph. Mine host, my cloak was lined through with orange-tawny velvet.
Host. How, your cloak? I ne'er knew thee worth one.
Steph. You're a company of coneycatching rascals: is this a suit to walk without a cloak in?
Rob. Uncle, is this the reformation that you promised me?
Steph. Coz, shall I tell thee the truth? I had diminished but sixpence of the forty shillings; by chance meeting with a friend, I went to a tailor, bargained for a suit: it came to full forty: I tendered my thirty-nine and a half, and (do you think) the scabby-wristed rascal would [not] trust me for sixpence!
Rob. Your credit is the better, uncle.
Steph. Pox on him! if the tailor had been a man, I had had a fair suit on my back: so venturing for the other tester——
Rob. You lost the whole bedstead.[72]
Steph. But after this day, I protest, coz, you shall never see me handle those bones again; this day I break up school: if ever you call me unthrift after this day, you do me wrong.
Rob. I should be glad to wrong you so, uncle.