Wife. I'm to new[89] seek for crosses: the hopes I meant
Turn to despair, and smother in content.
Enter Robert.
Steph. O nephew, are you come! the welcom'st wish
That my heart has; this is my kinsman, sweet.
Wife. Let him be largely texted in your love,
That all the city may read it fairly;
You cannot remember me, and him forget:
We were alike to you in poverty.
Steph. I should have begg'd that bounty of your love,
Though you had scanted me to have given't him;
For we are one: I an uncle-nephew,
He a nephew-uncle. But, my sweet self,
My slow request you have anticipated
With proffer'd kindness; and I thank you for it.
But how, kind cousin, does your father use you?
Is your name found again within his books?
Can he read son there?
Rob. 'Tis now blotted quite:
For by the violent instigation
Of my cruel stepmother, his vows and oaths
Are stamp'd against me, ne'er to acknowledge me,
Never to call or bless me as a child;
But in his brow, his bounty and behaviour
I read it all most plainly.
Steph. Cousin, grieve
Not at it; that father, lost at home, you shall
Find here; and with the loss of his inheritance,
You meet another amply proffer'd you;
Be my adopted son, no more my kinsman:
[To his Wife.] So that this borrowed bounty do not stray
From your consent.
Wife. Call it not borrow'd, sir; 'tis all your own;
Here 'fore this reverend man I make it known,
Thou art our child as free by adoption,
As deriv'd from us by conception,
Birth, and propinquity; inheritor
To our full substance.
Rob. You were born
To bless us both; my knee shall practise
A son's duty even beneath [a] son's;
Giving you all the comely dues of parents; yet
Not forgetting my duty to my father:
Where'er I meet him, he shall have my knee,
Although his blessing ne'er return to me.
Steph. Come then, my dearest son, I'll now give thee
A taste of my love to thee: be thou my deputy,
The factor and disposer of my business;
Keep my accounts, and order my affairs;
They must be all your own: for you, dear sweet,
Be merry, take your pleasure at home—abroad;
Visit your neighbours—aught that may seem good
To your own will; down to the country ride;
For cares and troubles, lay them all aside,
And I will take them up: it's fit that weight
Should now lie all on me: take thou the height
Of quiet and content: let nothing grieve thee.
I brought thee nothing else, and that I'll give thee.