SCAR. They are my brothers, Frank, come out of Yorkshire
To the tavern here, to ask their portions:
They call my pleasures riots, my company leprous;
And like a schoolboy they would tutor me.
ILF. O, thou shouldst have done well to have bound them 'prentices when they were young; they would have made a couple of good saucy tailors.
THOM. Tailors?
ILF. Ay, birdlime tailors. Tailors are good men, and in the term-time they wear good clothes. Come, you must learn more manners: as to stand at your brother's back, to shift a trencher neatly, and take a cup of sack and a capon's leg contentedly.
THOM. You are a slave,
That feeds upon my brother like a fly,
Poisoning where thou dost suck.
SCAR. You lie.
JOHN. O (to my grief I speak it), you shall find
There's no more difference in a tavern-haunter
Than is between a spital and a beggar.
THOM. Thou work'st on him like tempests on a ship.
JOHN. And he the worthy traffic that doth sink.
THOM. Thou mak'st his name more loathesome than a grave.