Y. ART. Sir, though it be my father's pleasure thus
To wrong me with the scorned name of knave,
I will not have you so familiar,
Nor so presume upon my patience.
O LUS. Speak, Master Arthur, is he not a knave?
O. ART. I say he is a knave.
O. LUS. Then so say I.
Y. ART. My father may command my patience;
But you, sir, that are but my father-in-law,
Shall not so mock my reputation.
Sir, you shall find I am an honest man.
O. LUS. An honest man!
Y. ART. Ay, sir, so I say.
O. LUS. Nay, if you say so, I'll not be against it:
But, sir, you might have us'd my daughter better,
Than to have beat her, spurn'd her, rail'd at her
Before our faces.
O. ART. Ay, therein, son Arthur,
Thou show'dst thyself no better than a knave.
O. LUS. Ay, marry, did he, I will stand to it:
To use my honest daughter in such sort,
He show'd himself no better than a knave.