Bout. Do you make it strange?
Throat. By heav'n, I know it not.
Bout. Then am I griev'd
I spake so much; but that I know you love him,
I should entreat your secrecy, sir; fare you well.
Throat. Nay, good sir, stay; if ought you can disclose
Of Master Small-shanks' good, let me partake,
And make me glad in knowing his good hap.
Bout. You much endear him, sir; and from your love
I dare presume you make yourself a fortune,
If his fair hopes proceed.
Throat. Say on, good sir.
Bout. You will be secret?
Throat. Or be my tongue torn out.
Bout. [Fair] measure for a lawyer. [Aside.] But to the point,
He has stole Sommerfield's heir, hither brings her,
As to a man on whom he may rely
His life and fortunes: you hath he named
Already for the steward of his lands:
To keep his courts, and to collect his rent;
To let out leases, and to raise his fines:
Nothing that may or love or profit bring,
But you are named the man.
Throat. I am his slave,
And bound unto his noble courtesy
Even with my life; I ever said he would thrive,
And I protest I kept his forfeit mortgage
To let him know what 'tis to live in want.