FATHER. Woe is me, my son, woe is me!
This heavy and doleful day to see.
SON. I grant indeed I am your son;
But you my father shall not be,
If that you will cast me into that prison,
Where torn in pieces ye might me see.
FATHER. Where I might see thee torn and rent?
O Lord, I could not such a deed invent!
SON. Nay, by the mass, I hold[310] ye a groat,
Those cruel tyrants cut not my throat:
Better it were myself did slay,
Than they with the rod my flesh should flay.
Well, I would we did this talk omit,
For it is loathsome to me every whit.
FATHER. What trade then, I pray thee, shall I devise,
Whereof thy living at length may arise?
Wilt thou follow warfare, and a soldier be 'ppointed,
And so among Troyans and Romans be numbered?
SON. See ye not, masters, my father's advice?
Have ye the like at any time heard?
To will me thereto he is not wise,
If my years and strength he did regard;
Ye speak worse and worse, whatsoever ye say;
This manner of life is not a good way,
For no kind of office can me please,
Which is subject to wounds and strokes always.
FATHER. Somewhat to do it is meet and convenient;
Wilt thou then give thy diligent endeavour
To let thy youth unhonestly be spent,
And do as poor knaves, which jaxes[311] do scour?
For I do not see that any good art,
Or else any honest science or occupation,
Thou wilt be content to have a part,
After thy father's mind and exhortation.
SON. Ha, ha, ha, ha, labour in very deed!
God send him that life which stands in need:
There be many fathers that children have,
And yet not make the worst of them a slave,
Might not you of yourself be well ashamed.
Which would have your son thither constrained?
FATHER. I would not have thee driven to that succour,
Yet for because the scriptures declare,
That he should not eat, which will not labour,
Some work to do it must be thy care.
SON. Father, it is but a folly with you to strive,
But yet notwithstanding I hope to thrive.