O. Fos. No wonder, woman, he would do that in Ludgate;
But 'twas when his kind nephew did relieve him:
I shall hear him cry there again shortly.
Steph. Oysters, new Walfleet oysters!
O. Fos. The gentleman is merry.
Mrs Fos. No, no, no; he does this to spite me; as who should say,
I had been a fishwife in my younger days.
Brew. Fie, fie, gentlemen! this is not well;
My ears are guilty to hear such discords.
[Robert kneels to his father.
Look, Master Foster; turn your eye that way;
There's duty unregarded, while envy struts
In too much state: believe me, gentlemen,
I know not which to chide first.
O. Fos. What idol kneels that heretic to?
Steph. Rise, boy, thou art now my son, and owest no knee
To that unnatural: I charge you, rise.
O. Fos. Do, sir, or turn your adoration that way;
You were kind to him in his tatter'd state;
Let him requite it now.