[Husband takes up the child by the skirts of his long coat in one hand and draws his dagger with th’ other.]
HUSBAND.
Up, sir, for here thou hast no inheritance left.
SON.
Oh, what will you do, father? I am your white boy.
HUSBAND.
Thou shalt be my red boy: take that.
[Strikes him.]
SON.
Oh, you hurt me, father.
HUSBAND. My eldest beggar! thou shalt not live to ask an usurer bread, to cry at a great mans gate, or follow, good your honour, by a Couch; no, nor your brother; tis charity to brain you.
SON.
How shall I learn now my heads broke?
HUSBAND.
Bleed, bleed rather than beg, beg!
[Stabs him.]