Ga. I doe not come to borrow: please yee read.
Jou. Read? and with good regard, for sorrow paies noe debts.
Ga. The summes soe great I feare, once read by him, My seeming frend will prove my enemy.
Jac. Faith, if he doe, hee proves like your French galloshes that promise faire to the feet, yet twice a day leave a man in the durt.
Jou. Was this your fathers pleasure?
Ga. It was his hand.
Jou. It was his writing, I know it as my owne, Wherein hee has wronged mee beyond measure?
Ga. How? my father wrongd yee? I'm his sonn.
Jou. Wert thou his father I'm wrongd,—
Iniurd, calumniated, baffled to my teeth;
And were it not that these gray haires of mine
Were priviledgd ane enemy to vallour,
I have a heart could see your fathers wrong—
Ga. What? raile you, sir?