Tim. Hum: I'm sorry the old man should lie by the hour; but, O, these wicked elder brothers, that swear refuse them,[1] and drink nothing but wicked sack; when we swear nothing but niggers-noggers, make a meal of a bloat herring, water it with four-shillings' beer, and then swear we have dined as well as my lord mayor.
Sim. Here was goody Fin, the fishwoman, fetched home her ring last night.
Tim. You should have put her money by itself, for fear of wronging of the whole heap.
Sim. So I did, sir, and washed it first in two waters.
Tim. All these petty pawns, sirrah, my father commits to my managing, to instruct me in this craft that, when he dies, the commonwealth may not[2] want a good member.
Enter Mistress Mary.
Sim. Nay, you are cursed as much as he already.
Mis. Mary. O brother, 'tis well you are up.
Tim. Why, why?
Mis. Mary. Now you shall see the dainty widow, the sweet widow, the delicate widow, that to-morrow morning must be our mother-in-law.