Bout. And knowing this,
Art thou so wilful-blind still to persist
In ruin and defame?
W. Small. What should I do?
I've pass'd my word to keep this gentlewoman,
Till I can place her to her own content.
And what is a gentleman but his word?
Bout. Why, let her go to service.
W. Small. To service!
Why, so she does; she is my laundress,[327]
And by this light, no puisne Inn-a-Court
But keeps a laundress at his command
To do him service; and shall not I, ha?
Fran. Sir, you are his friend (I love him too);
Propound a course which may advantage him,
And you shall find such real worth in me,
That rather than I'll live his hindrance,
I will assume the most penurious state
The city yields, to give me means of life.
W. Small. Why, there's it: you hear her what she says;
Would not he be damn'd that should forsake her?
Says she not well? can you propound a course,
To get my forfeit land from yonder rogue:
Parcel-lawyer, parcel-devil, all knave,
Throat, Throat?
Bout. Not I.
W. Small. Why, so: I thought as much;
You are like our citizens to men in need,
Which cry, 'tis pity a proper gentleman
Should want money; yet not an usuring slave
Will lend him a denier to help his wants.
Will you lend me forty shillings?
Bout. I will.
W. Small. Why, God-a-mercy, there's some goodness in thee:
You'll not repent?