Ware. Sir, we now are friends
In a design.
Sea. And hope to be in time
Friends in alliance, sir.
Ware. I'll be free;
I think well of your son.
Sea. Who? Timothy?
Believe't, a virtuous boy; and for his sister,
A very saint.
Ware. Mistake me not, I have
The like opinion of my nephew, sir;
Yet he is young, and so is your son; nor
Doth the church-book say they are past our fears.
Our presence is their bridle now; 'tis good
To know them well whom we do make our heirs.
Sea. It is most true.
Ware. Well; and how shall we know
How they will use their fortune, or what place
We have in their affection, without trial?
Some wise men build their own tombs; let us try,
If we were dead, whether our heirs would cry,
Or wear[183] long cloaks. This plot will do't.
Sea. 'Twill make us
Famous upon the Exchange for ever. I'll home,
And take leave of my wife and son.
Ware. And I'll
Come to you at your garden-house.[184] Within there.
[Exit Seathrift.