ILF. Prythee, rather give me somewhat will keep me lean; I have no mind yet to take physic.
WEN. Master Scarborow is married, man.
ILF. Then heaven grant he may (as few married men do) make much of his wife.
WEN. Why? wouldst have him love her, let her command all, and make her his master?
ILF. No, no; they that do so, make not much of their wives, but give them their will, and its the marring of them.
Enter BARTLEY.
BAR. Honest Frank, valorous Frank, a portion of thy wit, but to help us in this enterprise, and we may walk London streets, and cry pish at the serjeants.
ILF. You may shift out one term, and yet die in the Counter. These are the scabs now that hang upon honest Job. I am Job, and these are the scurvy scabs [aside]; but what's this your pot seethes over withal?
BAR. Master Scarborough is married, man.
WEN. He has all his land in his own hand.