Rob. Father, let's fly the thunder of his rage.
Wife. Stand valiantly,
And let me bear the storm: all hurts that are,
And ruins in your bosoms I'll repair.
Enter Stephen Foster.
Steph. Where's the keeper? Go, sir, take my officers
And see your prisoners presently convey'd
From Ludgate unto Newgate and the Counters.
Keeper. I shall, sir.
Steph. Let the constables of the wards
Assist you. Go, despatch! and take these with you.
[To Robert.] How now! what mak'st thou here, thou caitiff? Ha!
Com'st thou to stitch his wounds that seeks to cut
My throat? Darest thou in despite
Relieve this dotard?
O. Fos. Get thee from my sight,
Thou devil in red: com'st thou in scarlet pride
To tread on thy poor brother in a jail?
Is there but one small conduit-pipe that runs
Cold water to my comfort, and wouldst thou
Cut off that, thou cruel man?
Steph. Yes;
I'll stop that pipe that thou may'st pining sit;
When drops but fell on me, thou poison'd it:
Thou thrust'st a son's name from thy cruel breast
For clothing of his uncle; now that uncle
Shall thrust him naked forth for clothing thee;
Banish'd for ever from my wealth and me.
O. Fos. Thou canst not be to nature so uneven,
To punish that which has a pay from heaven:
Pity, I mean, and duty. [Stephen offers to strike Robert.] Wouldst thou strike?
Wound me, then, that will kill thee, if I can:
Steph. Thou ravest.