Brew. Faith, my old suit—to reconcile those breaches
'Twixt your kind son and you: let not the love
He shows unto his uncle be any more a bar
To sunder your blessings and his duty.
O. Fos. I would you had enjoin'd me some great labour
For your own love's sake: but to that my vow
Stands fix'd against; I'm deaf, obdurate
To either of them.
Mrs Fos. Nay, sir, if you knew all,
You would not waste your words in so vain expense:
Since his last reformation, he has flown
Out again, and in my sight relieved
His uncle in the dicing-house; for which
Either he shall be no father to him,
Or no husband to me.
Brew. Well, sir, go call my daughter forth of the garden, and bid her bring her friend along with her: troth, sir, I must not leave you thus; I must needs make him your son again.
O. Fos. Sir, I have no such thing akin to me.
Enter Robert; Robert kneels to his father.
Brew. Look you, sir, know you this duty?
O. Fos. Not I, sir; he's a stranger to me.
Save your knee; I have no blessing for you.
Mrs Fos. Go, go to your uncle, sir; you know where to find him; he's at his old haunt; he wants more money by this time; but I think the conduit-pipe is stopped from whence it ran.