Brew. As, heaven be thanked, it still does!
Steph. Yet, sir, then,
I being sunk, and drown'd in mine own misery,
He would not cast out a poor line of thread,
And bring me to the shore; I had been dead,
And might have starv'd for him.
Brew. A better fate, sir,
Stood at your elbow.
Steph. True, sir: this was he,
That lifted me from want and misery;
Whose cruel father, for that [act of] good,
Cast him away, scorning his name and blood;
Lopp'd from his side this branch that held me dear;
For which he's now my son, my joy, my heir.
But, for his father, hang him!
Brew. Fie, fie!
Steph. By heaven!
Brew. Come, come,
Live in more charity, he is your brother;
If that name offend, I'll sing that tune no more.
Yonder's my daughter busy with her suitors;
We'll visit them. Now, Jane, bid your friends welcome.
Jane. They must be welcome, sir, that come with you;
To thee ten thousand welcomes still are due.
Rob. My sweet mistress! [Kisses her.
Lamb. Zounds! Sir knight, we have stood beating the bush, and the bird's flown away; this city bowler has kissed the mistress[94] at first cast.