Brew. O, no more, no more, good sir!
O. Fos. [To Rich.] Sirrah, when saw you my son Robert?
Rich. This morning, sir; he said he would go visit his uncle.
O. Fos. I pay for their meetings, I am sure: that boy
Makes prize of all his fingers 'light upon
To relieve his unthrifty uncle.
Brew. Does he rob![41] In troth, I commend him. [Aside.
O. Fos. [To Rich.] 'Tis partly your fault, sirrah; you see't and suffer it.
Rich. Sir, mine's a servant's duty, his a son's;
Nor know I better how to express my love
Unto yourself, than by loving your son.
O. Fos. By concealing of his pilferings.
Rich. I dare not call them so; he is my second master,
And methinks 'tis far above my limits
Either to check or to complain of him.
Brew. Gramercy, Dick, thou mak'st a good construction;
[To O. Fos.] And your son Robert a natural nephew's part
To relieve his poor uncle.