Enter Servant.
Scat. Yes, in truth, we are sworn brothers, and do mean to go both alike, and to have horses alike.
Joyce. And they shall be sworn brothers, too?
Scat. If it please them, lady.
Ser. Master Balance the goldsmith desires to speak with you.
Sir Lionel. Bid him come, knave.
Scat. I wonder, Sir Lionel, your son, Will Rash, is not here.
Sir Lionel. Is he of your acquaintance, sir?
Scat. O, very familiar: he struck me a box o' th' ear once, and from thence grew my love to him.
Enter Balance.