Plot. Sir, my desires take measure
And form from yours.
Ware. Nay, tell me your mind plainly
I' th' city-tongue. I'd have you speak like Cypher:
I do not like quaint figures, they do smell
Too much o' th' inns-of-court.
Plot. Sir, my obedience
Is ready for all impressions which——
Ware. Again!
Plot. Sir, I prefer your kind of life, a merchant.
Ware. 'Tis spoken like my nephew; now I like you,
Nor shall I e'er repent the benefits
I have bestow'd; but will forget all errors [Exit Cypher.
As mere seducements, and will not only be
An uncle, but a father to you; but then
You must be constant, nephew.
Plot. Else I were blind
To my good fortune, sir.
Ware. Think, man, how it may
In time make thee o' th' city-senate, and raise thee
To the sword and cap of maintenance.
Plot. Yes, and make me
Sentence light bread and pounds of butter on horseback. [Aside.
Ware. Have gates and conduits dated from thy year;
Ride to the 'spital on thy free beast.