JOHN. I yield to that; but ne'er consent to this,
I shall then die, as mine own sin affords,
Fall by the law, not by my brothers' swords.
THOM. Then, by that light that guides me here, I vow,
I'll straight to Sir John Harcop, and make known
We were the two that robb'd him.
JOHN. Prythee, do.
THOM. Sin has his shame, and thou shalt have thy due.
[Exit.
JOHN. Thus have I shown the nature of a brother,
Though you have proved unnatural to me.
He's gone in heat to publish out the theft,
Which want and your unkindness forc'd us to:
If now I die, that death and public shame
Is a corsive to your soul, blot to your name.
[Exit.
SCAR. O, 'tis too true, there's not a thought I think,
But must partake thy grief, and drink
A relish of thy sorrow and misfortune.
With weight of others' tears I am o'erborne,
That scarce am Atlas to hold up mine own,
And all too good for me. A happy creature
In my cradle, and I have made myself
The common curse of mankind by my life;
Undone my brothers, made them thieves for bread,
And begot pretty children to live beggars.
O conscience, how thou art stung to think upon't!
My brothers unto shame must yield their blood:
My babes at others' stirrups beg their food,
Or else turn thieves too, and be chok'd for it,
Die a dog's death, be perch'd upon a tree;
Hang'd betwixt heaven and earth, as fit for neither.
The curse of heaven that's due to reprobates
Descends upon my brothers and my children,
And I am parent to it—ay, I am parent to it.
Enter BUTLER.
BUT. Where are you, sir?
SCAR. Why star'st thou, what's thy haste?
BUT. Here's fellows swarm like flies to speak with you.