Cyph. 'Tis too true, sir.
Tim. Well,
We are all mortal; but in what wet case
Had I been now, if I had gone with him!
Within this fortnight I had been converted
Into some pike; you might ha' cheapen'd me
In Fish Street; I had made an ordinary,
Perchance, at the Mermaid.[234] Now could I cry
Like any image in a fountain, which
Runs lamentations. O my hard misfortune! [He feigns to weep.
Sea. Fie, sir! good truth, it is not manly in you
To weep for such a slight loss as a father.
Tim. I do not cry for that.
Sea. No?
Tim. No, but to think,
My mother is not drown'd too.
Sea. I assure you,
And that's a shrewd mischance.
Tim. For then might I
Ha' gone to th' counting-house, and set at liberty
Those harmless angels, which for many years
Have been condemn'd to darkness.
Plot. You'd not do
Like your penurious father, who was wont
To walk his dinner out in Paul's, whilst you
Kept Lent at home, and had, like folk in sieges,
Your meals weigh'd to you.
New. Indeed they say he was
A monument of Paul's.