DRAW. Faith, sir, not so long as Noah's flood, yet long enough to have drowned up the livings of three knights, as knights go nowadays—some month, or thereabouts.
JOHN. Time ill-consum'd to ruinate our house;
But what are they that keep him company?
DRAW. Pitch, pitch; but I must not say so; but, for your further satisfaction, did you ever see a young whelp and a lion play together?
JOHN. Yes.
DRAW. Such is Master Scarborow's company.[393] [Within, Oliver! Anon, anon, look down to the Pomegranate[394] there.
THOM. I prythee, say here's them would speak with him.
DRAW. I'll do your message. Anon, anon, there.
[Exit.
JOHN. This fool speaks wiser than he is aware.
Young heirs left in this town, where sin's so rank,
And prodigals gape to grow fat by them,
Are like young whelps thrown in the lions' den,
Who play with them awhile, at length devour them.
Enter SCARBOROW.
SCAR. Who's there would speak with me?