Aur. Yes, and more. Do you not remember what tasks you were wont to put me to, and expenses? when I bestowed on you gowns and petticoats, and you in exchange gave me bracelets and shoe-ties? how you fooled me sometimes, and set me to pin plaits in your ruff, two hours together, and made a waiting frippery of me? how you racked my brain to compose verses for you—a thing I could never abide? Nay, in my conscience, and I had not took courage, you had brought me to spin, and beat me with your slippers.
Luc. Well, sir, I perceive you are resolved to hear no reason; but, before my sorrowful departure, know she that you slight is the preserver of your life; therefore I dare be bold to call you ingrate, and in that I have spoke all that can be ill in man.[338]
Aur. Pray, stay; come back a little.
Luc. Not till you are better-tempered. What I have revealed is true; and though you prove unthankful, good deeds reward themselves: the conscience of the fact shall pay my virtue. So I leave you. [Exit.
Aur. That I should owe my life to her! which way, I wonder? Something depends on this, I must win out: well, I will not forswear it, but the toy may take me in the head, and I may see her. [Exit.
Enter Antiquary and Petro.
Ant. Has he such rare things, say you?
Pet. Yes, sir, I believe you have not seen the like of them: they are a couple of old manuscripts, found in a wall,[339] and stored up with the foundation; it may be they are the writings of some prophetess.
Ant. What moves you to think so, Petro?
Pet. Because, sir, the characters are so imperfect; for time has eaten out the letters, and the dust makes a parenthesis[340] betwixt every syllable.