THOM. In troth, sister, we two to beg in the fields,
And you to betake yourself to the old trade,
Filling of small cans in the suburbs.
SIS. Shall I be left then like a common road,
That every beast that can but pay his toll
May travel over, and, like to camomile,[396]
Flourish the better being trodden on.
Enter BUTLER, bleeding.
BUT. Well, I will not curse him: he feeds now upon sack and anchovies, with a pox to him: but if he be not fain, before he dies, to eat acorns, let me live with nothing but pollard, and my mouth be made a cucking-stool for every scold to set her tail on.
THOM. How now, butler, what's the meaning of this?
BUT. Your brother means to lame as many as he can, that when he is a beggar himself, he may live with them in the hospital. His wife sent me out of Yorkshire to tell him that God had blessed him with two sons; he bids a plague of them, a vengeance of her, crosses me o'er the pate, and sends me to the surgeon's to seek salve: I looked, at least he should have given me a brace of angels for my pains.
THOM. Thou hast not lost all thy longing; I am sure he hath given thee a cracked crown!
BUT. A plague on his fingers! I cannot tell, he is your brother and my master; I would be loth to prophesy of him; but whosoe'er doth curse his children being infants, ban his wife lying in childbed, and beats his man brings him news of it, they may be born rich, but they shall live slaves, be knaves, and die beggars.
SIS. Did he do so?
BUT. Guess you? he bid a plague of them, a vengeance on her, and sent me to the surgeon's.