O. Fos. And sound nothing when they are crack'd,
As is his love to me, and mine to him.
Wife. I hope you both in smoother streams shall swim.
He's now the Sheriff of London, and in council
Set at the Guildhall in his scarlet gown,
With mayor and aldermen, how to receive the king,
Who comes to see Master Brewen's hospital
To-morrow, consecrated by th' Cardinal,
And old St Mary's Spital, here by Shoreditch.
Mrs Fos. Ay, sister, he and you may set
'Bout what you will; heav'n, I am sure, prospers it;
But I am ever cross'd: you have been bound
For three great voyages, yet ne'er run aground—
Maid, wife, and widow, and wife again—have spread
Full and fair sails, no wrecks you e'er did dread,
Nor e'er felt any; but even close ashore,
I'm sunk, and 'midst of all my wealth made poor.
Wife. You must thank heaven.
Mrs Fos. I do, indeed, for all.
Wife. Sister, that hand can raise that gives the fall.
Enter Keeper.
Keeper. Master Foster, the new sheriff, your brother,
Is come to Ludgate, and I am come in haste
To know your pleasure, if you would see him.
O. Fos. I'll see a fury first; hence! clap to the door, I pray thee.
Wife. Why, 'tis your brother, sir.