O. Fos. Did he not say he'd beg for you? you'd best make use of's bounty.
Brew. Nay, good sir.
O. Fos. Sir, if your daughter cast any eye of favour upon this unthrift, restrain't, he's a beggar. Mistress Jane, take heed what you do.
Mrs Fos. Ay, ay, be wise, Mistress Jane; do not you trust to spleen in time worn to pity,[87] you'll not find it so; therefore, good gentlewoman, take heed.
Brew. Nay, then, you are too impenetrable.
O. Fos. Sir, your money shall be ready, and your bills; other business I have none.
[To Rob.] For thee, beg, hang, die like a slave;
Such blessings ever thou from me shalt have.
[Exit Foster and his Wife.
Brew. Well, sir, I'll follow you. [To Robert.
And, sir, be comforted,
I will not leave, till I find some remorse;
Meantime let not want trouble you;
You shall not know it.
Rob. Sir, 'tis not want I fear, but want of blessing
My knee was bent for; for mine uncle's state,
Which now (I daresay) outweighs my father's far,
Confirms my hopes as rich as with my father's,
His love excepted only.