LORD. Ill met to see your nephew in this case,
More like a brute beast than a gentleman.
SIR WIL. Fie, nephew! shame you not thus to transform yourself?
SCAR. Can your nose smell a torch?
ILF. Be not so wild; it is thine uncle Scarborow.
SCAR. Why then 'tis the more likely 'tis my father's brother.
SIR WIL. Shame to our name to make thyself a beast,
Thy body worthy born, and thy youth's breast
Till'd in due time for better discipline.
LORD. Thyself new-married to a noble house,
Rich in possessions and posterity,
Which should call home thy unstay'd affections.
SIR WIL. Where thou mak'st havoc.
LORD. Riot, spoil, and waste.
SIR WIL. Of what thy father left.